Brittle
by Perspex13
Summary: Beckett's life is turned upside down when her wayward partner turns up again. An AU story.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Brittle

Rating: T

Summary: Beckett's life is turned upside down when her wayward partner turns up again. An AU story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: This story is a diversion from my normal fare, the result of a stray thought that just couldn't be reined in. *Please Note*: I'm not big on spoilers or trigger warnings, so I offer none here. But some bad things happen to good people in this story. These will be handled as in my other stories, so if you were okay with those you should be fine here.

* * *

While the temperature outside was cool, within the car it was frigid.

"So," the driver offered with an affected shrug after the weight of the stilted silence became too much to bear, "I guess we're not talking?"

Met only with silence, he focused on the road and his own rising irritation.

"It was a bad party, I get that," he ground out again a few blocks later. "But, you know, you could've actually _tried_ to be social. Those were my colleagues and friends. I need you to get along with them."

"Why?"

The simple response seemed to stump him, especially from her. Usually, she'd let loose with a series of incisive questions, zeroing in on her topic with sometimes unnerving precision. The change in her approach, coupled with her icy demeanor, had him wondering what he missed. After thinking about an answer for another block, he offered a response.

"Because we'll see a lot of them. You know my job includes making appearances at parties and other events." He turned quickly to see if his words resonated, but saw only the profile of her face as she looked out the side window.

She'd been acting oddly lately, something he was admittedly slow to recognize. But, after picking up on enough of the clues, he figured out what was bothering her. He'd thought the topic would arise at the party, even had some side conversations about it while she was circulating. The problem, of course, was that he wasn't sure he was ready to consider such a serious turn in their relationship. But, he braved a partial step.

"And because there will be more of those events in the future."

At those last words, she finally turned her head and, after staring at him for several long moments, replied. "Oh? And why is that? Are you expecting a promotion? Or do you expect to have more time for socializing in the near future?"

Already uncomfortable, her questions irritated him. He was trying, dammit, which is more than she bothered to do at the party. She wanted him to spell things out for her? Fine.

"If… when… if… we get married, we'll have more time for these kinds of things."

"Why would we have more time on our hands after getting married?" she asked in a tone that carried more curiosity than derision. "We already have demanding jobs."

"Now," she answered with a shrug, "but not after we're married."

"Oh, you plan on quitting once we get married? I don't know if my salary would carry us both."

"Not _my_ job," he snapped back, certain now that she wasn't taking his suggestion seriously. "My job would easily cover us."

"Oh, I see," she answered with a nod. "So, I'm going to walk away from my career, then? All my effort, all my accomplishments, all my goals – I'm going to leave those behind to settle down? Seems a bit of a waste."

"It's not like…," he started, before recognizing the trap. Instead, he switched gears. "It's not like I wouldn't be giving anything up. I'd have to… cut down on my trips." He hoped she hadn't noticed his hesitation, but he knew better. She didn't miss anything. He strongly suspected that a proper marriage would require eliminating his trips altogether, which is one of the reasons he'd never seriously considered it! He also suspected, for the first time, that he'd drawn the wrong conclusion. Maybe she hadn't been thinking about marriage. Maybe her recent demeanor was related to something else…

"But why _cut down_ on your trips? If I've already given up my career, why shouldn't I walk away from my friends and family, too? I could tag along on your tours and sit there like a nice, docile wife. Unless there are social obligations there, too, in which case I'll need to work on _being more social_."

His patience finally broke at her tone of false naïveté. "Dammit, Kate, what's your problem? I'm trying to have a serious conversation here."

"A serious conversation?" she asked incredulously. "If this were a serious conversation it would be a discussion. Instead, you seem to have my life all planned out while everything about yours seems carefully conditional."

"So I'm not comfortable. It's not like we've talked about this and I might be a little nervous…"

" _We_ haven't talked about it, but that doesn't mean you haven't discussed it with others, does it?" she asked, pinning him with a glance. "Or, should I say ' _joked about it'_ with others?"

He wrinkled his brow at her question. Thinking back to his conversations during the party, he can't recall any jokes, just the usual banter… Oh. Oh, crap.

"' _The best part…_ ,'" she quoted in an unkind impersonation of his voice, "… _'is that I wouldn't even have to worry about a mother-in-law!'_ "

"Kate, that was just…."

"I know exactly what it was," she interjected with a growl. "Just another example of complete disrespect. My mother's death is a joke to you. My career is a joke to you. Sounds like a _wonderful_ foundation for a marriage."

"It was just party talk. You _know_ MacDonald always fights with his mother-in-law. He rants about her every time he gets drunk and he _always_ gets drunk. I was just playing to the audience."

"I don't pretend to know much about marriage, but I know a hell of a lot about good partnerships. Good partners back each other up. They look out for each other. They defend each other. They _don't…_ ," she paused for emphasis, "… ' _play to the audience_ ' at each other's expense."

"We're talking about a real relationship here, Kate, not about cops."

"I'm a cop! As much as that doesn't impress you, it's what I am. And I expect my _relationships_ to be a lot like partnerships."

"Yeah," he replied snidely, weary of being defensive, "because that's worked out _so well_ for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Will. Tom," he spat back. "They were cops, or close enough. How'd those _partnerships_ work out for you?"

"You bastard," she replied with disgust at the below-the-belt shot. "But, fine, let's talk about them. They were bad partners. Doesn't mean a good relationship shouldn't be a partnership. Or include mutual respect. I've actually known people who admired my career and my…"

"Oh, here we go," he interrupted in exasperation. "Please tell me, _yet again_ , how you could've been with the great Richard Castle. It's a wonderful story. I love hearing about how the guy who didn't even have the patience to finish his damn book would've been an attentive _partner_."

"He finished the book!" she replied defensively. "It just couldn't be published. And, since you're so interested, you'll be happy to know that I just heard from his editor, who told me it's in production now."

"So it just takes an extra two years to finish what he started?" he laughed. "Sounds like a great partner."

"He wasn't a good partner," she replied, trying to end this topic of conversation. "That's why I kicked his ass out."

"And went running to Demming, which worked out so well," he replied with a shake of his head. "Face it, Kate, you only dated me because I wasn't a cop and couldn't screw you the way Demming did. And you only dated Demming because he _was_ a cop and couldn't screw you the way Castle did. You know," he pondered, "maybe the problem wasn't your partners. Maybe the problem was _you_."

"Maybe so," she replied after deciding the best way to absorb this attack was to accept and redirect it. "I clearly have bad taste. But, I learn quickly," she added as she reached for the door handle as the car came to a stop for a red light. "You said the best thing about your would-be mother-in-law is that she's gone? Well, so am I."

* * *

Having bailed out of the car only two blocks shy of her apartment, Detective Kate Beckett was back on the road within half-an-hour. She'd used the short walk home to clear her head, shed her stress, and make a plan. From there, it was simple: a quick change of clothes, three minutes to toss any evidence of her ex-boyfriend into a plastic CVS bag (as she determined that Dr. Josh Davidson didn't even warrant a cardboard box), and she was off on her motorcycle.

She reached Davidson's condo another twenty minutes later. She'd figured it was a fifty-fifty proposition as to whether he'd be home. Part of him would want to return home to seethe, to rant and rave about how unreasonable she was being, how a _simple cop_ should be thrilled with the opportunity to leave her career behind. The other part, the one that apparently prevailed since there was no answer to her sharp knocks, would have him sitting at some yuppie bar, making eyes at coeds while bitching about women to a distracted bartender.

Beckett smirked to herself after entering his condo. The great key asymmetry had been another point of dissension in their relationship. As he was frequently out of town for medical trips, Davidson had given Beckett a key to his condo. "Just in case," he'd said. But Beckett had been reluctant to surrender a key to her own apartment. "I don't really travel," she'd replied when he asked. He'd recognized she was brushing him off, but had been unwilling to push further.

And yet, somehow, he thought they were ready for a conversation about marriage.

It took her even less time to remove any trace of herself from his condo. That should bother her, she thought as she ghosted through the rooms, but she had a hard time getting worked up about it. So, with a few items that were easily stowed in her pockets, she hung the CVS bag on the handle of his door, stepped into the hallway, relocked the entrance, and slid his key under the door. No mess, no note, and no more doctor.

Had she been more irresponsible, she would've ditched her helmet just to feel the wind through her hair as she drove away from his place for the last time. But she'd seen far too many casualties to be so blasé about personal safety, so she had to content herself with pushing the speed limit a bit. Hardly the rebel she used to be.

Breakups always made her introspective and this one was no different. She was musing on her fight with Josh as she wandered through the city, following traffic laws and lights by rote. Being lost in her own head wasn't a great idea while riding her Harley, but it was relatively quiet in the city tonight – plays had started but not yet let out, closing time was hours away, and it seemed to be one of those odd nights when people stayed in.

She was surprised, though she quickly realized she shouldn't have been, to look up only to find herself idling in front of a condo building on Broome Street. It'd been nearly two years since she was last inside and almost as long since she'd seen the author. Their parting had been sharp and painful – her fury at his decision to look into her mother's case was the end. She banished him from her precinct and hadn't heard from him since.

But he's always lingered in her mind. Working with him on cases had been an experience. Initially, it was an experience in (in)patience and forbearance. But when they caught their stride, there was nothing like it. Lanie had teased her mercilessly, but she couldn't deny there was something fundamentally stimulating about working with someone who could puzzle things out from a different perspective. Add in the flirting, innuendo, and good humor and 'stimulating' started to be an insufficient description.

The heady feeling of working so well with him had made the pain of his betrayal all the more acute. So, out he went. And then the book went nowhere. All that effort, all that pain, and nothing to show for it. Although the surprise call from Black Pawn last week made it sound like she'd finally get to read about the fictional exploits of Nikki Heat sometime soon. Oh, how she detested that name.

Thinking about _Heat Wave_ finally gave Beckett the push she needed. Pulling around the corner, she parked her bike, doffed her helmet, and walked into the reception area of Castle's building.

She couldn't help the smile that blossomed upon seeing stalwart Eduardo still attending the security desk. And based on his genuine smile, he remembered her, too.

"Hello, Eduardo," Beckett offered with her first smile of the evening.

"Hello, Miss Detective Kate," he replied with a friendly look and a slight blush.

"It's good to see you. Is Rick still upstairs?"

"Oh, no," Eduard replied with genuine sadness. "Mister C left two years ago."

"Finally gave up on the city and moved to the Hamptons?" Beckett asked, unable to suppress her inquisitive mind or baseline desire to investigate.

"Virginia first, I think, then Chicago," Eduardo replied, though the hazy look of recollection suggested his memory might be in doubt.

"Oh," Beckett replied, surprised by this turn of events. Knowing Castle, there's probably a woman involved, she thought. Yes, should could easily see him blowing around the country, especially if his writing projects were stalled. Still, what of Alexis and Martha? Ah, but Eduard said "left," not "moved out."

"Is Martha around?"

"No," Eduardo repeated, still down. "She left us two years ago, too."

Stymied in her effort to collect information on people she'd ignored for two years, Beckett made pleasant conversation with the doorman before she walked out of the building and mounted her Harley while haunted to a troubling sense of unease.

* * *

Late the next morning, Beckett was back on her Harley and heading out of the city. It's another route that she knew by heart since her many, many previous trips to this location engrained the path into her mind. Unlike the previous night, though, she didn't want to let her mind wander. So, instead, she played a game they'd learned in the Academy. She imagined she'd be tested upon arrival, asked to account for as many of the details of her drive as possible: how many times did she stop? How many bodegas did she pass, and how many were open? Did she see a blue, four-door sedan while driving and if so, where was it licensed, was the license current, and in what direction was it heading? Mind games like this were supposed to enhance her memory for details, but she appreciated them for their distraction.

A distraction was welcome and necessary. She'd awoken that morning with a gasp as the obvious answer appeared to her sleeping mind – Eduardo's comment that "she left us" was a euphemistic reference to Martha's passing, not a simple reference to a relocation. It had taken only minutes to find the obituaries online. But something was wrong: while the summaries of her life covered the expected highlights, they were curiously lifeless and restrained. It was a sad juxtaposition from the personality of the woman they described. It made Beckett wonder if there was a scandal involved, if Castle's references to his mother's wilder antics were accurate and if they ended in a blaze of glory that the newspapers downplayed to protect the dignity of those involved.

For the first time in a long while, Beckett feels the sad weight of guilt on her shoulders. Martha died a few short months after Castle's departure from the precinct. And whether scandalous or not, Martha's passing would've devastated her son and granddaughter, neither of whom were mentioned in the obituaries beyond a vague reference to "family." It's no wonder Castle's publication efforts were put aside.

All too soon, Beckett had to release the failed distraction of her memory exercise and make the final turn into the cemetery. It disturbed her on a fundamental level that while she found herself back in this familiar graveyard, it was to visit someone else's mother.

It wasn't lost on her that their moms were buried in the same place, and she wondered again if it was intentional. She never knew Martha's story, where she came from or where her family lived (or died). She assumed that Martha's story was not without sadness, given Castle's references to the difficulties that marked his early childhood. Perhaps she was cast out for her pregnancy, or perhaps she was an orphan? The frustrating obituaries provided no insight.

Still, it wasn't possible to stop here with paying her respects to Joanna Beckett, so that's where Beckett started. The path to the marker was familiar. Before she knew it, Beckett was kneeling before the site, offering quiet words of remembrance and asking for strength in her next task.

It was a long walk to Martha's plot. On a low rise, the grave marker did not call attention. It was small and simple, almost anonymous in its ubiquity. In another few months or years, the stone will be weathered like all those around it, blending into a sea of nearly indistinguishable cairns that protect the privacy of grief. The only deviation from this theme are the small words carved into the marker beneath Martha's name and dates of birth and death: _Beloved Mother and Grandmother, Broadway Star, True Heroine. The Heavenly Host is More Flamboyant with Your Addition_.

The epitaph made her smile, even though it seemed wrong. It was cute, but terse. Limited. Clearly this was not planned in advance and Castle managed what he could while in the depths of sorrow.

Beckett had fond memories of the woman who so assertively welcomed her and helped her prepare for an undercover, high society event. With a smile at the recollection, Beckett knelt to offer a heartfelt if slightly tardy prayer for the matriarch.

Beckett arose feeling slightly lighter as she realized that her trip was a good idea. Martha had a full, wonderful life. Sure, it was beset with challenges, not the least of which must've been raising a young Richard Rodgers as a single mother. But she had a life for which she could be proud: a successful career and a loving family. Beckett found comfort in knowing that not every grave here was filled prematurely, even if her own mother's life was tragically curtailed.

As she stood to depart, Beckett's eyes drifted to the neighboring marker. Her body went rigid, she swayed, and then fell to her knees once again as her mind tried in vain to process the words on the headstone that was planted only two months before Martha's. _Alexis Harper Castle. Our Love, Our Life, Our Light. Please Continue to Guide Those Who Are Lost Without You_.

* * *

A/N: Greetings from San Francisco! We're on vacation for another few days. As long as everything goes as planned, I'll be able to post the next chapter on Friday.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Down below.

* * *

By lunch the next day, Beckett was even more out of sorts. She was sitting in a nameless diner where her elbows stuck to the table and the menus were illegible where the peeling laminate tore the ink from the page. She didn't notice the inconvenience as her mind was distracted by the terrible things she'd learned in the last day.

She didn't remember leaving the cemetery or consciously making a decision about where to go, but again her motorcycle seemed to anticipate her needs. She found herself back at the precinct, but too early. The day shift was still working and would make too much notice of her arrival on a day where her team was not scheduled. She'd left her bike at the precinct and instead chased the vague promise of a distracting walk. It'd failed miserably. Her two-hour stroll provided new blisters on her feet and a sweaty blouse, but no mental clarity.

Coffee helped, of course, but not as much as usual. Still, the quiet visit to a local shop provided her the chance to cool off, rest her feet, and reset her mind for the searches she planned. Refocused if not invigorated, she'd slipped into the precinct and made her way to her desk after checking to ensure that there was no one around who'd give her trouble.

Her effort had failed almost immediately. All she could find out was that Alexis' records were sealed. While that suggested a crime or an accident, it was no guarantee. At her age, 'natural causes' was a highly unlikely cause of death, but virtually any other explanation could've resulted in sealed records. Plus, Castle has friends at City Hall and elsewhere. He could easily be behind the restricted access.

Even without accessing Alexis' file, though, Beckett had been able to start piecing together the story. Alexis died first, with Martha following just over six weeks later. Martha likely died of a broken heart – is that 'natural causes'? She thought it might be a question for Lanie.

What was more troubling was that this all happened two years ago, during the first summer after she'd banned Castle from the precinct. He'd been a wreck when she met him and a terrible voice in the corner of her mind started to whisper that his expulsion might've started a terrible chain of events. Had he returned to the playboy lifestyle, with its expected drinking and carousing? Had he been morose? Had he done something to estrange his mother or daughter?

Beckett wondered about reaching out to Castle. Sure, she'd heard from his publisher just recently. And, with what she's learned since then, she's not at all surprised by the extra two years required to finish _Heat Wave_ ; frankly, she's shocked it's coming out at all. She'd run his cellphone number – a pretty clear abuse of her position – and found that it'd been disconnected for more than a year. Property searches came up negative. A credit check would likely find him, but she'd been unwilling to send up that flare until she had a better idea what happened during those initial months following his departure.

Beckett's ruminations ended abruptly as a tired blonde woman slid into the banquette seat across from her.

"Beckett," the newcomer greeted while signaling a waitress.

"Morgan," Beckett replied, adding her nod in an attempt to prompt service.

After they'd placed their orders for coffee in to-go cups, the women surveyed each other before Beckett broke the silence. "I need a favor."

"Figured," the blonde replied. "Is this a ' _it'll take an hour or two of extra work_ ' kind of favor or a ' _if anyone finds out you'll be back on traffic patrol_ ' kind of favor?"

Beckett offered a wry grin, then a shrug. "I'm not really sure. I need access to a sealed file. The answer to your question depends on why it was sealed, which I don't know."

"Bit late to be looking into your doctor friend, isn't it?" Morgan replied with a lifted brow.

Having only really spoken to Michelle Morgan on the phone, Beckett wasn't sure if she was being teased or criticized. But she decided it didn't really matter. "No. He's history. Not sure the problems there would've turned up in a background check or sealed file."

"I hear ya," Morgan lamented. "S'pose that's why you came to me instead of Dockins?"

"Yeah," Beckett agreed with another shrug. "We both know what he'd want for this kind of access. Especially after Demming."

This time it was Morgan who grunted and shrugged in reply. "Prick. He got a friend of mine. Used the whole 'hey, let's work out together' shtick. Dropped her three weeks later." Noticing Beckett's lowered head, Morgan makes the connection. "He used the gym thing on you, too?"

Beckett only nodded. She'd talked herself in circles about this with Lanie and didn't feel the need to do it again. Still, learning that she'd fallen for a pickup routine made the situation sting a little more, even many months later.

"Okay, I'll see if I can pull your file. Normally, this kind of favor'd cost ya, but think of this as a post-Demming bonus. We'll be flipping him the bird in spirit, even if he doesn't know anything about it. Don't screw with the women of the NYPD."

Beckett huffed in amusement but quickly expressed her thanks. Then she reached into a pocket and withdrew a notecard with Alexis' name and case number. Morgan surveyed the card and if she recognized the name or its connection to Beckett, she hid it well.

"Okay," Morgan said as she accepted the card and the coffee being delivered by the waitress. "No promises, but I'll see what I can do. Might take a while, depending on the reason it was sealed."

"Thanks, but be careful. Don't do anything that'll get you into trouble."

"Don't worry," Morgan assured her. "There's enough of us now that we have a solid network. Just don't be surprised when another sister reaches out for help."

* * *

Four days later Beckett still hadn't heard from Morgan. That wasn't entirely surprising – there was no telling how long it would take to access the file without knowing why it was sealed, plus Morgan has her own cases to worry about. The vicissitudes of her ordinary employment could easily command her attention for days. But, hopefully not weeks.

Beckett's own schedule had picked up, thanks to an uptick in NYC homicides. All three teams were working at full tilt, each juggling more than one case. But, the deities had smiled on Beckett's team today, neatly delivering a suspect via an importune visit to an old love interest. Esposito's questioning had identified their suspect's old flame. And, counter to their usual luck, their perp had arrived to visit the young woman just as the NYPD cruisers pulled up to question her, a task they'd left for the end of the day. One short, lopsided skirmish later and the suspect was in the back of a cruiser awaiting his night in Holding.

The downside of such an unexpected catch was extra paperwork – admissions forms, booking forms, case development documents, and a call to the DA's office. All of which needed to be completed before they could close down for the night. So, feeling good about their efforts but still a little sorry for themselves, Beckett's team dropped their charge in lock-up and headed back up to the Homicide floor.

"What's the boss doin' here?" Detective Esposito asked as the elevator doors opened. The lights were dimmed over the bullpen, part of the City's environmental awareness pledge and a real pain in the ass for anyone working late (dim lights don't help the attentiveness of those who are already tired!). But Captain Montgomery's office was fully lit, a beacon on the floor.

"Probably has his own paperwork to do," Beckett replied easily. "I'll tell him we got our suspect. Maybe he'll let us start late tomorrow if we get our forms in tonight.

As both her partners snorted at the unlikely scenario, Beckett strode to Montgomery's office, knocked on the door, and awaited acknowledgment.

"I didn't expect your team to be working late," Montgomery offered with some surprise after calling out "Enter."

"We got our suspect," Beckett offered without preamble. "He showed at the same place we did. He's downstairs and we're turning to our forms."

"Is the booking document done?" Montgomery asked, knowing he'd get a nod in return as the officers down in Holding wouldn't have taken possession of the suspect without completed paperwork. "Okay, then clear out. I'll call the DA's office and you can tend to the rest in the morning."

"Sir?" she asked, surprised by the break in protocol and his usual preferences.

"I've got an appointment so I need to stick around anyway. Go on, clear out and enjoy what you can of the evening."

"Okay, thank you, sir," Beckett replied, still a little curious about the situation. "I'll tell the boys."

Beckett exited the office and closed the door only to look up and see both of her colleagues watching her.

"We're done for the night," she offered with a shrug. "Montgomery's waiting for someone so he'll take care of the DA. No late start for us tomorrow, but we can wait 'til then for any other paperwork."

"Huh," Detective Ryan replied with his brows knit. "That seems odd."

"Don't disagree, don't care," Esposito said with a bit of glee in his voice. "I won't cry about getting out of here in time to make the rounds."

Beckett was about to ask what rounds he was talking about when the elevator's ding caught her attention. Looking up, she saw a small group stepping out of the elevator. Tim McGrady, the Desk Sergeant, led a group of three. Thinking this must be Montgomery's appointment, Beckett took a seat at her desk while surreptitiously scoping out the visitors.

They were clearly federal agents of some sort, based on the bland suits, short-cropped haircuts, and imposing physiques and demeanors. The two in the lead were broad-shouldered, barely fitting through the elevator doors while walking beside each other. Both had black hair and – ridiculously, given that they were indoors at night – both were wearing sunglasses. The man behind them was also broad, but a little taller, with brown hair, no glasses, and… stunning blue eyes.

Blue eyes she hadn't seen for two years.

Hearing a startled intake, Beckett knew that at least one of her colleagues had also recognized the third agent. Although, perhaps assuming him an agent was premature. After all, he'd shadowed cops, perhaps now he was doing the same for the Feds?

Castle's next action called this notion into question. Casting his eyes over the detectives with a glance, he offered a small nod without breaking stride. He did, however, reach forward and tap the shoulder of one of his companions. With a quick glance at the detectives, Castle conveyed his request wordlessly. His companion pulled to the side, unholstered his weapon, and stood at attention.

"Please remain seated," Castle's other companion stated in a clear, authoritative voice. "We'll be out of your way in a few minutes. Officer McGrady, please wait here."

Without pausing, the speaker and Castle continued to Montgomery's door. Castle knocked but did not await an answer before entering, while his other colleague moved in a flanking position to provide backup after closing the door.

Beckett looked to her partners only to see her own look of surprise mirrored back. McGrady, meanwhile, looked completely lost – he wasn't supposed to leave visitors unattended, but he also wasn't supposed to be gone from the front desk for anything other than a short break.

"You can back head down, McGrady," Beckett offered. "I'll see them out and you can get back to the desk."

"I'm afraid not, Detective Beckett," the Fed replied. His familiarity with her name caught her interest, but she wasn't surprised. If Castle's involved in whatever's happening in Montgomery's office, he must've provided a briefing. "I need everyone to remain in place until the warrant is served and we've secured our suspect."

Looks of surprise morphed into looks of alarm. So, this wasn't a consultation – the Feds were here to arrest Montgomery?

Sitting back in her seat to consider the situation, Beckett's attention was instead caught by a small sliver of hot pink paper peeking out from beneath her computer. Curious about yet another unexpected development, she lifted the computer to find a sealed envelope beneath with a pink post-it note with a five word message: _Here's that paperwork you requested._

 _Morgan must've stopped by while we were apprehending our suspect_ , Beckett thought as she lifted the envelope she hoped would contain Alexis' file.

Wait. Alexis has a closed file, and now Castle is here to arrest Montgomery? _The chances these are unrelated events are almost laughably small…_

Beckett's panicked musings prompted her to look toward Montgomery's office, and not a moment too soon. Castle was standing in front of the Captain's desk, talking, while his colleague was off to the side with weapon drawn but at rest. With the office door closed, none of the detectives could hear what was being said, but Montgomery's look conveyed volumes. With a sigh, he slowly stood from behind his desk, took a deep breath, then walked around slowly before extending his hands toward Castle.

Beckett and her colleagues were shocked by what happened next. Pushing his blazer to the side, Castle reached for a set of handcuffs that hung from his belt. The motion exposed the sidearm tucked into a shoulder holster.

 _So, not a shadow this time,_ Beckett thought as some of her blanks about Castle's life for the past few years seemed to be filled in.

While Beckett processed the notion of Castle as an official agent, Castle cuffed Montgomery while talking again, probably articulating the Miranda rights. Then, he walked around to Montgomery's desk and picked up the jacket from the back of the chair. After a quick pat-down to ensure it was free of any keys or weapons, he folded the jacket and draped it over Montgomery's wrists to obscure the handcuffs from view.

Castle's colleague was the first out the door, followed by Montgomery, with Castle at the end of the strange, little procession. Though she was curious about Castle, Beckett's eyes were drawn to her boss, then to the blazer hiding his cuffed wrists. It was the classic position of dignity offered to those who are arrested without a fuss, a concession that would make any pictures only infinitesimally less heartbreaking for Montgomery's wife and daughters.

The procession stopped next to McGrady and the unnamed Fed who'd been keeping an eye on the detectives.

"They're on their way," the other Fed said, just as the elevator again opened to disgorge its occupants, this time a crime-scene team that immediately approached. "Take everything, then lock it down," he directed them, somewhat redundantly.

With the crime scene team in place, Castle's group turned to depart, but Montgomery pulled them up short by turning to Beckett.

"Kate," the prisoner offered in a quiet voice before seeming to lose his courage or remember his legal situation. He turned back toward the elevator before looking back to murmur "I'm sorry."

With that signal the five men (including a still confused McGrady) again began to move toward the elevator before they stuttered to a stop again.

"Beckett," Castle offered in a quiet voice, finally breaking his silence. "You should reach out to your father. What happens next is gonna be a little rough." Then, like Montgomery, he couldn't bring himself to leave without one last comment. "Nice to see you again." After an acknowledging nod and "Gentlemen" offered to Ryan and Esposito, Castle directed his group to the elevator and departed.

"What the Hell?!" Esposito asked blankly as he stared at the closed doors of the elevator. "What's goin' on?"

"Whatever it is, it isn't good," Ryan replied in a low tone. "We've seen enough perp walks to know when we've got someone who knows he's guilty. And Montgomery… he looked like he knew what was going on and knew it wasn't gonna end well for him."

"Beckett?" Espo asked when he noticed she wasn't participating in the conversation.

Instead, Beckett had turned back to Morgan's envelope in the search for answers. Tearing it open roughly, she extracted the pages and felt her stomach drop as she immediately recognized the homicide report. It's a closed case, but not because the perpetrator was found. Instead, limited departmental resources forced the unresolved closure of the case when no new leads turned up. " _Random gang violence_ ," Beckett read with dread.

"Beckett?" Ryan followed up, concerned that she ignored Espo's inquiry and seemed to be going very pale.

Again, Beckett ignored her colleagues as she turned the page with a trembling hand. She only glanced at the autopsy report long enough to confirm the pattern of knife wounds as identical to those that killed her mother before she fell to her knees and vomited.

* * *

A/N: I was so anxious to finally post something that I forgot part of the author's note from chapter one. I'd meant to mention that this story is done and will clock in at six chapters. That was true, then. Since then, I've decided to add another scene to one of the last chapters. I've got the whole flight back to DC to work that in (and six flights next week for work), so I don't expect it to affect the publication schedule for the story. Next chapter should go up Sunday.

I also mentioned at the end of UNM that this story was inspired by thoughts from the Muse of Apollo and Madcrafter72. I'll explain those thoughts at the end of the story.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Moving back home?" Jim Beckett asked with a crooked smile after he opened his front door to find his daughter standing with a small suitcase.

"For a little while," Beckett answered in a small voice. Her serious answer and withdrawn disposition knocked the smile off her father's face.

"Katie?"

"We need to talk," she answered while stepping in. "Can you call in sick?"

"I'll drop a note about 'working from home' in a bit. What's on your mind?"

Taking a few steps to set her suitcase in the doorway of the guest bedroom, Beckett turned and walked to her father's kitchen. Jim remained quiet while his daughter poured them each a glass of ice water, then followed her silently as she moved to the living room. Beckett lowered herself onto the sofa, set the glasses of water atop coasters on the coffee table, and then tuned the television to an all-news cable station before muting the device.

Jim lowered himself into his usual chair. Though it was orthogonal to the sofa, it allowed him to be closer to his daughter and to face her while she explained her strange arrival. He assumed a pose of interest, leaning forward in his chair with elbows on his knees, close enough to reach out and grasp a hand if the explanation proved taxing.

"I told you Richard Castle shadowed me at the precinct, two years ago," Beckett began, getting a slow nod. "I told you that I threw him out, but not why."

"I assumed he made a pass at you," her father replied. "His reputation… isn't stellar."

"Oh, he made plenty of passes at me," Beckett replied, a wisp of a smile gracing her face for the first time since her arrival. "He was incorrigible. Arrogant, outspoken, troublesome, and – as much as it bothered me – brilliant. We actually worked well together, though I was careful to never admit that to him, lest his ego expand and force the rest of us out of the building."

"So, what happened?"

"He looked into mom's case," Beckett whispered in reply.

Her quiet admission knocked Jim back in his chair and brought back memories of terrible days. When he finally started to get clean and crawl away from the jaws of his alcohol addiction, he'd been thrilled that his daughter had apparently thrived – or at least survived – while he was fallen. But the more sober he got, the more he recognized signs of addiction in her. The late nights, the fixation, the willing ignorance to other aspects of her life… Sure, she'd hidden the signs better than most, but he had experience in recognizing the telltale signs of obsession and self-denial.

It had given him a reason to get dry and stay sober. And it had taxed his abilities as a father to gently and subtly lead her away from the edge of the cliff she couldn't perceive.

It was all too easy to imagine their small gains crumbling to dust.

"I understand why you made him leave," Jim offered quietly, leaning forward in his chair again. "And I'm proud of you for not getting pulled back in."

Beckett nodded at the praise, surprised at how good it made her feel. But there was more to the story, more that she needed her father to understand.

"I was furious. First, that he poked into my life at all. No one gets to do that," she vowed with finality. "But then, he was an author gathering information and insight for his book. I was terrified that a critical piece of my past, my _identity_ , would be splashed on a page in the name of 'character development.'" Beckett trailed off and looked away as she tried to choke back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Jim recognized that his daughter was leading to an important point and did something remarkably difficult. He waited, in silence, for his daughter to speak again.

"I was totally justified in throwing him out. And no one gave me any trouble about booting him – not the Captain, not the Chief, not the Mayor, not even the guys," she whispered. "But I've always felt guilty about it. Because I don't know if I threw him out because he looked into mom's file…," she paused, taking a breath, "… or because he found something I missed."

Jim sat stock still for several long moments, long enough for his silence to catch Beckett's attention. As she raised her head to gauge his reaction to her confession.

"You are so strong," he finally whispered, to her surprise. "You didn't fall back in, did you? After all your effort to walk away from the case, his discovery must've driven you nearly mad," he explained simply, imagining his own reaction if someone tried to ply him with a bourbon after a long, hard trial.

"I stayed away," Beckett admitted with just a trace of pride in her voice. "It was hard."

He huffed at her understatement and finally reached out to grasp her hand. "I'm so proud of you."

Oddly, his confession seemed to make her withdraw slightly, though she still held his hand.

"I was proud of myself, too. Until yesterday, anyway," she presaged. Jim, noticing his daughter steeling herself, prepared for a new chapter in their personal tragedy.

"You know that stupid joke you used to tell us whenever we'd go hiking at the cabin, about the bears?" she asked.

"Katie, Katie, Katie, you still don't understand," he replied, shaking his head in dismay. "I'm a dad. There's no such thing as a stupid dad joke."

"'Stupid dad joke' – there's a redundant phrase," Beckett teased in reply before growing somber again. "You always said you didn't need to outrun the bear, you just needed to outrun whoever was hiking with you."

"Right, then I'd usually bump you off the trail," he remembered.

"Exactly. I feel like that's what I did to Castle. I outran the bear because he didn't."

"What?" Jim asked, not following. "What do you mean?"

"Castle poked into mom's case, found something new, then I kicked him out," she explained while her father nodded along. "Then…," she trailed off, before rallying and trying again. "Then, his daughter was murdered. Not even three weeks later. Knifed and left in an alley to bleed out. _Exactly_ like mom."

" _No_ …," Jim groaned, slumping back into his seat once again.

"I had no idea," Beckett continued, almost rambling. "He was gone, I moved on, tried not to think about him at all, and I didn't hear from him again. Then, last month, I got a call from his publisher. His book – the one inspired by his time in the precinct – is finally in production. That made me think of him again. I tried to look him up and found out his mother died. I visited her plot on my next visit to mom, then saw his daughter's tombstone. Her records were sealed and I only found out what happened to her yesterday."

"Wait. Mother and daughter – isn't that his whole family?"

Beckett nodded sadly. "They were his whole world. He adored his daughter. It was his most redeeming quality. And though he sometimes pretended otherwise, he loved his mother dearly, too."

"His mother…," Jim started to ask, appalled by his train of thought but driven on by morbid curiosity, "did they…"

"I don't think so," Beckett answered, understanding his question. "I don't know, but I'd guess she didn't survive the shock of losing her granddaughter."

"And Mister Castle?"

Beckett released a long sigh. "That's why I'm here. I saw him last night. At the precinct." Beckett stopped and frowned, dissatisfied by her choppy answer. "We were in late after a lucky collar and my boss was still in his office. Three men showed up with an escort, we figured they had a meeting with the Captain. Except one of them was Castle, and he arrested Montgomery."

"How? I thought he was a civilian?"

"Not anymore, apparently," Beckett answered. "We're not sure who they were, but I'm guessing FBI, even though Castle was too old to join. He knows a lot of people and I wasn't the first law enforcement officer he shadowed. My guess is he called in every favor, spent whatever was necessary, to find a way to avenge his daughter. She was his whole life – without her around he'd mortgage it all in her memory."

"But… but if you're right, then that means your Captain…,"

"That's what I'm afraid of," she confessed in a low tone. "Castle emerges from obscurity to arrest Montgomery. Could it be a coincidence? Feds can't pick or choose their cases any more than I can; in fact, he shouldn't be allowed anywhere near his daughter's case in any official capacity. But, knowing him, that's exactly what he'd do. And, frustratingly, he'd manage to talk people into letting him do it, knowing full well that it shouldn't happen."

"But that would mean your Captain could be linked to what happened to Jo!"

"Castle all but confirmed it. He didn't say anything to us on the way in, but after he arrested Montgomery, he said that I should 'reach out to you' because things were going to get 'rough,'" she explained, using air quotes to identify Castle's words.

"But how? Back then, he wouldn't have been a Captain, right?"

"No," Beckett confirmed. "He would've been pretty green back then. I've been trying to figure out where he fits and it doesn't make sense. There's got to be more to the story."

"I guess that's why the TV is on, even if it's muted?"

"Yeah. If Castle's working this like we would, everything needs to happen quickly, now. Arresting someone of Montgomery's stature won't stay quiet for long. So, Castle either took Montgomery early to try to get him to plead out and turn on anyone else involved, or it's a larger operation and they're rolling up everyone involved at the same time."

"You think there were multiple people involved?" Jim asked in dismay.

"I obviously don't know Montgomery as well as I thought I did, but I don't think he's a murderer. So, if he's involved but didn't kill mom, then there's some kind of conspiracy. It might explain why her case was closed and why I had such trouble getting any related information. And the information Castle found – he discovered a pattern to the wounds. With the pattern, we found others had been killed the same way as mom. Could something like that be the result of a methodical serial killer? Sure. But it could also suggest organization and multiple conspirators."

"I think I need some coffee," Jim mumbled as he lurched out of his chair and walked woodenly to the kitchen. He reached for the cabinet that held the mugs only to see his hand shaking as it hadn't in years. Looking at his trembling hand in dismay, he was surprised to feel arms band around him from behind.

"I'm sorry, dad," Beckett whispered. "Lord knows I didn't want to dredge all this up."

"Truth is always better than lies," Jim intoned, getting a huff from his daughter who remembered this morality clip from her upbringing, "even if the lies are easier to hear. I'll be okay, Katie. It's just gonna take a little time for this all to sink in."

"That's why I'm here," she agreed as she moved around him to take over the process of making coffee. "I thought we could spend a day or two together to get used to this. And to get ready for whatever's next."

"Good plan. I'll just go drop an email to the office to let them know I'm not feeling well and will be at home today. I guess you've done the same on your end?"

"Yeah," she huffed. "Left a message with HR. It's not like I've got a Captain to review my leave request right now."

Jim smiled, dropped a kiss on his daughter's head (which was much more difficult to do now than when she was a girl, even ignoring her penchant for heeled boots), and wandered into the bedroom to retrieve his computer. Settling back into his chair, Jim was about to open his laptop when his eyes drifted to the muted news program on the television.

"Katie!"

Abrupt clinking and thudding noises preceded Beckett's skid into the living room. With a hand on her hip she scanned for threats. Instead, she saw her father leaned over his laptop, typing with furious focus.

"Dad?"

Without looking up from his computer, Jim gestured to the TV. "Federal agents just arrested Senator Bracken."

Wondering immediately if this was the fallout Castle foreshadowed, Beckett rounded the couch and sank into place, where she leaned forward and scanned the periphery of the camera footage for any trace of her old partner. Growing frustrated, she grabbed the remote to turn on the volume and scan the other news channels.

Her search didn't resolve her frustration. The news channels all covered the story, but with the same frustrating lack of details and the same bland footage. Perhaps not bland – the warrant was served well and the spectacle of the event was impressive without tilting into sensationalism – but the scene focused on the Senator, not law enforcement. Leaning back into the sofa, Beckett admitted to herself that she'd need to wait for more details to emerge before knowing if this was part of Castle's investigation.

" _Fucker_."

"Dad?" Beckett wondered, startled by the harsh invective she was sure she'd never heard from her father.

"Senator Bracken," Jim replied in a tight voice. "I'd forgotten. He was an attorney before he went into politics. Worked in the DA's office. He was there when your mother was killed. Would Montgomery…"

"Would he have interacted with Bracken? Not if he was the DA," Beckett thought aloud, trying to imagine the circumstances where a green cop would get the attention of the District Attorney.

"But Bracken was an Assistant AD when Jo was killed," Jim answered, tapping on his computer screen to underline the timing. "Cops work with ADAs all the time, right?"

"Right," Beckett agreed with grim finality.

Once loosed, thoughts of murderous conspiracies and obscure government connections ran through the heads of father and daughter, though neither gave voice to their considerations. Instead, they sat in silence and watched the cable news programs that continued to ferret out small details and updates in the hottest story of the day.

"Do you think…," Jim started to ask with some trepidation, startling Beckett by finally breaking their silence. "Do you think Mister Castle might tell us what's going on?"

Beckett let the question ferment while she thought of her answer. Truth was, she had thought about reaching out to him. It was the logical next step. He shouldn't tell them anything, but then again, he shouldn't even be working this case. So, the usual rules didn't seem to apply. And whether it be painful or awkward or uncomfortable or intriguing, she felt like she should see Castle again. Their story ended abruptly without reaching a resolution. Perhaps it was time to see how their story would resolve.

"I'll ask him," she promised her father before lapsing back into silence.

* * *

Beckett slammed the phone into its cradle and growled at her computer. Tellingly, this surprised neither of her partners, as they'd seem the same behavior from her many, many times.

Finally, though, Ryan realized that such behavior was highly correlated with case work and they didn't have a pending case. So, something else was amiss. With a fortifying breath, he decided to inquire.

"Still don't want any help?" Ryan asked, which earned a quick glower from his partner Esposito who was enjoying himself with no work pending.

Beckett scrubbed her face with her hands before looking up at her partners and nodding. "Yeah. I could use some help. Even though it shouldn't be this hard."

"Whatcha doin'?" Esposito asked. Apparently, wading into something that stumped Beckett was interesting enough to forgive the loss of his wasted time.

"Trying to find Castle," she answered, to his surprise, though Ryan offered a nod. Ignoring reactions, she explained her problem. "I've tried the usual but not much is turning up. Clearly, he's living in or around Chicago," she said, pulling a screen from an internal TSA site. "He turns up on flight records. His tickets are paid by a government account. And I mean _all_ his tickets. So, either he's not traveling on his own, he's defrauding the government, or he's booking his personal travel some other way without leaving a trail."

This odd pronouncement caused Ryan and Esposito to share a look. "Not even to visit their graves?" Ryan asked.

The two men were still reeling from Beckett's news about Castle, from what happened to Martha and Alexis to how it might relate to Montgomery's arrest. And, with that much of the story told, Beckett had to share her guess about the connection to Bracken's arrest, which had floored both of her partners. Although Espo recovered quickly, buoyed by his firm belief that everyone in the DA's office was either a pain in the ass or a crook, often both.

"He's been to New York many times," Beckett answered, annoyed without reason that he hadn't communicated, "but it looks like it was always work related. Or, at least the government paid for it."

"What about financials?" Ryan asked. "He's got to be leaving a trail somewhere."

"No lease, no titles, no mortgages," Beckett replied while toggling to a different webpage. "And I mean anywhere – nothing here or in Chicago. I'd guess he's either sub-letting, bunking with a friend, or staying in a facility of some kind."

"Wait. I get selling the loft," Esposito chimed in. "After his mother and daughter… well, it woulda been tough to stay there. But he dropped his Hamptons place, too?"

"Signed it over to his second wife," Beckett responded. "Odd to keep it in the divorce only to hand it over later, but I guess his life changed quite a bit."

"She's his editor, right? They back together?"

"No idea," Beckett shrugged. "Maybe. Not sure he needs an editor, though, given what he's up to and the whole Chicago thing." Although, forced to consider the possibility, Beckett wondered _Heat Wave_ 's sudden return to the publication schedule was yet another thread in the tapestry.

"He gets paid, right?" Ryan asked. "So he's got to have a bank account."

"Sure. It's got even less than I've got in my account," she replied with a grim laugh. "He must've moved his assets offshore. My guess is he's got a direct deposit for his pay, then it gets transferred somewhere. But I can't chase any further without a warrant. Besides, given everything that's going on," she added with a grim wave towards Montgomery's old office, "I don't blame him for taking precautions."

"You getting' jumpy, Beckett?"

"Damn right I am," she replied to his surprise. "Aren't you? If Bracken's involved, then we've got a Senator, who'd been an assistant AD, plus an NYPD Captain? Yeah, I'm jumpy."

"Makes you wonder about Castle's friend Weldon. Has he been arrested yet?" Ryan asked in a tone that tried to be light and failed.

"Not as far as I know," Beckett huffed. "But it's not like they'd trust us to be part of it."

This sad acknowledgment was as close as any of them had come to articulating their problem. Under Montgomery, they were the go-to Homicide team, clearly favored even though all teams were equal on paper. And Beckett, herself, was considered a favored child, recognized for her quick movement up the ranks. But after Montgomery's arrest, the team had been benched. Not officially, not yet. But whispers followed them as colleagues started to wonder if they were involved in whatever led to Montgomery's downfall.

It was the worst kind of situation, one they used frequently with their suspects: a casual observer would be unable to tell whether the team was still in the field because they were innocent or because they rolled on their superior. The whole situation prompted enough uncertainty that the doubt and mistrust would grow and fester, slowly poisoning the rest of the precinct against Beckett's team. And there was precious little they could do about it, at least until the details of the case against Montgomery were public.

The dour thoughts were shattered by the jangling ring of Beckett's desk phone. All three detectives stared at it and let their anxiety show, though each of them knew that Internal Affairs wouldn't call in advance.

"Beckett," she answered, hoisting the phone while maintaining eye contact with her partners. Her brow furrowed quickly, though, based on whatever was said. "Yeah, he was. Haven't talked to him in a while," she answered before pausing again to listen. "He quit?! But why… Yeah, yeah, good idea to put that on hold until he sobers up. So, you want me to pick him up?"

While Beckett used her free hand to rub her forehead at the unexpected turn in the conversation, she missed the sad look traded by her partners, who knew all-to-well about Beckett's experience in fishing people out of the drunk tank.

"I know the place, I can be there in about 30," she added after glancing at her father's watch on her wrist. "Yeah, thanks for calling. He might appreciate it later," she finished with a grim chuckle. Then just as she had been poised to hang up, she remembered one last item. "Wait! What agency are you guys with?"

She knit her brows again, looked at the receiver in her hand, then hung up before turning to her partners. "The bastard just laughed and hung up."

"Definitely a Fed, then," Espo nodded. "Prick."

"Just ask Castle," Ryan suggested. "Sounds like he's about ready for an interrogation."

* * *

A/N: Sorry to those who wanted to see Castle and Beckett together again, but that's obviously queued up. As for me, travel shenanigans delayed my return home, so I'm behind schedule. I'll get to review replies as soon as I post this chapter. As for the next chapter, I'm not sure when it'll got up. I've got a full-day off-site on Tuesday; if I can find time, I'll upload the story then. If not, it'll go up Wednesday.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

 _What a dump_ , Beckett thought as she approached the door. She wondered what kind of state Castle was in by now. Thanks to trouble getting out of the precinct and more traffic than expected, it had taken almost an hour to get here. _And if he was drunk then, he's probably unconscious by now_.

"Welcome to the Old Haunt," a haggard bartender ground out before he mumbled "at least for now." Beckett wondered what that was about before she looked around the pub. The signs of old glory abounded, but a sad sense of melancholy had expanded to occupy the space that should've been filled by patrons. The pictures on the walls were faded, the leather upholstery was cracked and worn, and she had the distinct impression that she'd cringe at the many layers of dirt and grime that would be revealed should the place ever be fully illuminated. _The price of real estate in the City is far too high_ , she considered, _to allow a place like this to remain open. Foreclosure or a new buyer must be looming_.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked, trying again to provide for what might be one of his last customers.

Having spied her target at the far end of the bar, Beckett had her answer ready while she moved toward him. "I'll have whatever he's having," she answered.

The bartender huffed in disgust at his wasted bonhomie and wandered off to fill her order. Beckett, meanwhile, mounted the stool beside Castle. Surprised that he didn't seem to register her presence, she decided to break the ice.

"I think I preferred our first meeting place," she offered gamely, harkening back to when she'd first approached him, years ago.

Castle sat quietly, eyes sightlessly staring forward while his hands curled around his drink. Beckett waited silently. The scene didn't change for several long minutes, until the bartender plonked a drink in front of her. Beckett looked at the clear liquid and lime wedge and cringed. She hoped it was vodka but feared it was gin. She was just about to lift it and find out when Castle finally spoke.

"I nearly lived here, once upon a time," he offered in a quiet voice. "It was a haven, a retreat, an inspiration. I liked to think I was communing the spirits of other creative souls, but it was really just a quiet place for me to focus. Then the book did well, then Alexis arrived, then mother…," he trailed off before fortifying himself with another belt from his drink. "I wish I'd never stopped visiting. Then maybe I could've saved this place. Saved something, anyway."

Beckett sighed and dropped her head. Somehow, they'd landed on Alexis and Martha already, after one innocuous opening line. She wasn't surprised, not really, considering what drove them apart and then brought them back together. But she'd hoped to rebuild a bit more of a connection with him before treading into deep emotional waters.

"Castle, I'm so sorry about Alexis and Martha," she whispered, daring to lift a hand to grasp his forearm. "I wish I could've helped them. I wish I could've helped you. I'd only found out that they died just before you arrested Montgomery and didn't know how until you'd already gone. And all because…"

"All because of me," Castle interrupted. "You have nothing to apologize for, Beckett. You warned me about the risks when I started. You warned me to stay away from your mom's case. Did I listen? Of course not," he spat in a tone of deep loathing. "No, I ignored everyone, reveled in my cleverness, tempted the devil himself. No, Beckett, I know exactly who to blame for their deaths."

"Castle, you're not the one who…"

"Stop, Beckett, just stop," Castle sighed, taking another drink. "I appreciate the effort, but I don't need the speech. Am I the one who stood in the alley and plunged a knife into Alexis' back, over and over and over and over?" he whispered harshly while Beckett fought back unexpected tears. "No. Am I the one who pinched closed the arteries around Mother's heart? No. But it doesn't matter. Neither of those things would've happened without me. And you know the worst part?"

 _It gets worse?_ Beckett thought morosely, finally lifting her drink and tasting only tonic water with a hint of lime.

"The worst part," Castle continued, "is that he's gonna walk. Bracken. He signed his plea deal this afternoon."

"What?!" Beckett growled as she slammed down her drink. "What do you mean? What did he do?"

"What did he do?" Castle laughed. "He figured out that some detectives in the NYPD were fleecing the mafia, faking arrests to hold gangsters for ransom. He extorted the proceeds of their scheme and started his own criminal enterprise. He hired a killer to take out the attorney whose defense of Joe Pulgatti threatened to expose the conspiracy. He hired a killer to send a message to the idiot consultant who was poking around years later."

"And Montgomery?" she asked, distracted by the heartsick realization that her mentor was indeed involved in what led to her mother's death.

"One of the detectives kidnapping mobsters," Castle answered. "And probably the one who actually popped Bobby Arman. Guess we'll find out."

"So, how did Bracken plead out? Did you guys…?"

"Our case is airtight, thank you very much," Castle growled in irritation. "I learned that from you, then others. Our case forced him to settle, otherwise he would've just fought it in the courts."

"Fine, but what did offer?"

"Someone higher up," Castle answered again. Beckett, meanwhile, tried to discern whether Castle didn't know the details or was withholding them. To her dismay, she couldn't tell.

"After he went to Washington, Bracken started swimming in deeper waters. Deep enough that he found someone the Feds really want. So, he's gonna walk away without being punished for Alexis or Johanna."

"But he's still gonna do time, right, even if in some minimum-security Club Fed facility?"

"Nope," Castle replied glibly. "Witness Protection. Not only will he not do time, but we're gonna pay to relocate, house, and reintegrate him."

"How the _fuck_ did that happen?" Beckett nearly shouted, drawing the attention of the few patrons in the bar. "And who the fuck thinks a sitting goddamn US Senator can hide in Witness Protection?" she hissed in a thankfully lower voice.

"My former employer," Castle answered. "Someone high up decided that Bracken's info on a priority target warranted the deal. Which is _why_ ," he drawled, "it's my _former_ employer."

"You can't leave now, Castle," Beckett encouraged him. "You're the only one on the inside. You're the only one who can… I don't know, you've got to be able to do _something_ , right? I mean, at the precinct you used to come up with craziest things but they _worked_. And you somehow completed some kind of Federal training _and_ managed to talk yourself onto a case from which every rule should've barred you. Come on, Castle, you might be the only one who can do something!"

"Oh, I can do something, alright."

Beckett paused, taken aback by the sense of certainty in his voice. Suddenly, she found herself at a moral crossroad.

"Castle? What do you have in mind?" she asked. "I don't know what you're thinking anymore."

"'Anymore?'" he repeats, finally looking wistful. "Yeah, I suppose I was pretty predictable back then. Always ready with a double entendre or a tawdry pick-up line… Those were the days."

"I miss it," Beckett confessed. " _NOT_ the tawdry pick-up lines!" she clarified, bringing a welcome laugh to them both. "I miss the viewpoint you brought to our cases. As much as it made me crazy, you really helped. Mind you, I'm very pleased you finally got some actual training."

"You mean you're happy that someone else had to put up with training me."

"That, too. But the cases we had, Castle…," she reminisced with a small smile on her face. "You do realize that most NYPD officers leave or retire without ever being forced to use their service weapon, right? We made it until – what, your second case with us, maybe? – before you were involved in a full-on, get-us-pinned-down-in-the-kitchen shoot-out?" she chuckled, the time since then allowing her consider the event dispassionately. "You had to throw bottles at an armed assailant!"

"Yeah, we didn't have many training scenarios like that. Might've lightened things up a bit."

"But you had training sessions on rolling up a multi-state political conspiracy?"

"Nope," Castle chuckled again. "That fell under the category of 'on the job training.'"

Beckett laughed along gamely, but the return to the previous topic made the somber again. "Are you sure you want to leave?"

"How can you ask me that? My boss' boss just gave Bracken immunity. How can I stay?"

"By working within the system! You leave and there's no shot at making this right. Bracken will take off and you know it. He might even take the Witness Protection for a little while, but he's got to have his own money to disappear. He'll wait until attention is focused elsewhere and then he'll ghost and we'll never find him."

"We?"

"He killed my mother, Castle," she needlessly reminded him. "It looks like you've done what I couldn't – you figured out who he is and why he did it. Now I want in. I want to make him _pay_."

Castle turned and went back to contemplating his drink. He remained quiet as he pondered her declaration, running through the possibilities. He finally turned back to her and broke his silence.

"I don't think so."

Beckett looked first confused, then irritated. "'I don't think so'? You don't think what? That you'll include me in what happens next? Or that you'll keep your job?"

"Beckett, what did I do before you asked me to leave the precinct?"

She sighed deeply, recalling how long it sometimes required him to get to the point of a story. Still, she confessed to herself (but not to him) that she enjoyed his stories, though this one appeared to be heading in an uncomfortable direction or he was trying to tease her. And she appreciated the gentle words he used to characterize her actions in expelling him from the precinct. _But_ , she decided, _if he's going to be difficult, I can do the same_.

"What did you do before you left the precinct? You flirted incorrigibly, jeopardized our cases, treated protocol as a laughably misguided suggestion, and occasionally somehow managed to write a word or two, or so you said."

Castle smirked and shook his head before he offered a rueful nod. "Touché. I was actually thinking about my official profession at the time."

"Writer?"

"Right," he replied with a nod. "A writer. One of two kinds of folks who sit around thinking how to kill people. Psychopaths and mystery writers – I was the kind that paid better."

"And…?" she prompted when Castle stalled in his explanation.

"And I'm no longer worried about getting paid."

"Castle?" she asked, shocked at how calm he seemed or that he was pursuing this conversation at all.

"You don't know how many scenarios I've envisioned. For my writing, of course," he added in a tone of false piety. "Did you know there's a curious inconsistency in the Statute of Limitation across states?"

"Not for murder," Beckett added on autopilot, still galled by the conversation.

"True, the inconsistencies are mitigated for homicide, as you'd know better than most. The definitions of murder, though, and the gradations as they apply to the Statute – well, let's just say they would leave one of my fictional characters with ample room to play."

"Castle, you can't mean this," Beckett urged in a low voice. She furtively looked around the bar to ensure no one was trying to eavesdrop. "You can't do this! What would Alexis and Martha think?"

"About me writing another mystery story?" Castle asked with maddening calm as he conflated his old profession with the stark possibility of killing Bracken. "I'm sure they'd be in favor of it. I'm sure they'd both encourage me to _write_ again as way to cope with my emotions. Which is only fair, as I'm certain my next story will be dedicated to them."

"Stop it!" she whispered harshly, again grabbing his forearm but this time with much more force. "You know who I am, what I do. You know what would happen if I…"

"… didn't like my story?" he interrupted, again turning her concerns about homicide aside by talking about his writing, though they both know they're talking about the same thing. "It doesn't matter," Castle continued easily. "I've been here, on this stool, for hours – since I learned about the plea deal and tendered my resignation. I stopped drinking long ago. Instead of getting hammered, I've revised outlines in my head. I've got a pretty good idea of how I'll write my next story. That's why I don't think I need your help – the outline's in place and you seem uncomfortable with the writing process."

"And if you or other people don't like my story? Not sure I care," he added flatly, before she could interject. "Alexis and Mother are the only audience I cared about and they're gone. So I'll write my magnum opus, dedicate it to them, and rest easy in the knowledge that the only opinion about the quality of my story that matters is mine."

With that declaration, Castle stood, wrenched his arm from Beckett's grasp, reached into his pocket, and peeled a twenty-dollar bill from a clip. He dropped the bill on the counter to cover their tab before turning back to his former partner.

"I'm not sure," he offered, "why you're so uncomfortable with this. You didn't like being my muse and now you're not. This next story is completely personal, I assure you." He paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable for the first time during the conversation. Then, he shook his head and Beckett nearly laughed, inappropriately, as she realized that Castle's discomfort was not with the unforgiveable topic of the conversation, but rather his frustration at finding the right words.

"I guess what really confuses me," he confessed to her, "is why you're not more excited about my new story. But maybe you should think about this: I know your mother was a fan of my writing. I think she'll like my next story best of all."

With that verbal gut-punch delivered, Castle headed toward the door. Had she more fight in her, Beckett would've followed, torn him up, and beat some sense into his head. Instead, she was left sitting at the bar, wondering why she was so opposed to Bracken disappearing, and wondering what her mother would think of all this.

Once again, the bartender interrupted her thoughts. As he was reaching for the money Castle left behind, Beckett dropped her hand to tap the twenty. "Vodka, rocks, double."

She had some thinking to do.

* * *

"I think it's time to look for a new job."

Esposito's dour pronouncement drew attention to him, but no real surprise. They were all thinking the same thing after this morning's meeting.

"I need the pension benefits," Ryan replied quietly. "And I survived the Gangs beat once, I can do it again," he said, trying to encourage himself. "It's not like I'm the only Irish cop in the NYPD, right? They'll have others who can go undercover."

"Maybe," Espo admitted, "but fuck them if they think I'm movin' from Homicide to Burglary. What a waste of talent. I did too much time here, and the Forces, to start jamming up meth-heads who pawned their neighbor's television set to get high."

"We're not done yet," Beckett encouraged, though her tone belied he actual belief. "They can't move us until our Union appeal is heard. Would you stay if we could all stay in Homicide?" Beckett asked forlornly.

"With a new Captain from Internal Affairs who already thinks we're guilty, just because Montgomery was our old boss?" Esposito asked in disgust. "I've proven myself twice, and to much better bosses than her. I don't know if I'm gonna do it again. There's other options for a guy like me out there, and all of 'em pay better than this place."

"We don't know that she's staying on as Captain," Beckett hedged, trying to preserve the possibility of keeping her team together. "We weren't the only team she tore apart in her little 'welcome to the new regime' speech. And I bet we're not the only ones who put in calls to our union rep to protect our rights."

"I don't think it's gonna work, Beckett," Ryan sighed. When he noticed her preparing to react, he lifted a hand to ask for time to make his point. "Think about it from 1PP's perspective – something was rotten in our precinct. They needed to do something to address the problem _and_ to provide them with enough cover if the media gets involved. What better shield than to say they turned the whole situation over to Internal Affairs? Gates will make her radical changes and probably be pulled in a few months. But that'll only be to appease the Union and provide a scapegoat for the next Captain. Then he can come in clean, Gates' changes remain in effect, and 1PP happily goes back to ignoring us."

"Gates doesn't seem like she's here temporarily," Beckett objected, "even if 'Interim' is in her title. I think she'll try to keep the job. She's got an impressive record, in her own way."

"Seems like we're screwed either way," Espo summarized. "But I'll help push on the union side of things. It'll piss off Gates, even if we lose," he laughed. "Besides, I need a little time to check my job options."

"Ryan?" Beckett asked, hoping he'd be on board, too, and perhaps a little more committed than his partner.

"I'm in. I don't know what I'd do without the NYPD – it's all I ever really thought about doing. I'd prefer we keep the team together," he said earnestly, earning a pursed-mouth look of chagrin from his partner.

As apology for his fiercely stated desire to leave, Espo offered a fist-bump to Ryan, who reciprocated with a small, hopeful grin. Beckett, too, smiled at the first prompt for optimism in what had turned out to be a horrible day even before addressing her other concern.

"Excellent!" she enthused. "Now, while we wait for our Union rep to return our calls, I could use your help in figuring out what to do about Castle…"

* * *

A/N: Decided to post this chapter early so my meeting wouldn't interfere. Next chapter should go up on Friday.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"So, why aren't you just standing back and letting Castle do his thing?" Esposito asked, confused by Beckett's position. "We all know Bracken's gonna take off unless someone takes him out before he can run. After what he did to your family, I woulda thought you'd be thinking the same as Castle."

"Have you forgotten who we are?" Beckett replied with a shake of her head. "We're supposed to be the good guys, remember?"

"And pushing Bracken off a cliff wouldn't be a good thing?"

"It's our job to catch them, not to judge them."

"Maybe not for much longer," Ryan interjected, still glum about the changes at the precinct and the possible explosion of his team.

"Yeah," Esposito reacted before Beckett could say anything. "It'd be nice if Castle held off until after we get booted. Be easier to root for him if we're not the ones who have to track him down."

"Espo, you know…," Beckett started to reply.

"Quiet!" Ryan interjected, shocking both his partners. Both looked quickly toward the door to Montgomery's old office, worried that Gates was eavesdropping. When that concern proved unwarranted, Beckett instead turned to the elevator, where she recognized one of the Feds who'd arrived with Castle. He seemed to feel her gaze and turned is head to lock eyes with her before walking confidently towards her.

"Detective Beckett," he said as he approached in a voice she recognized from the phone call that sent her to the Old Haunt. "I was hoping I could have a word?"

Curious at this turn of events, Beckett nodded and led the agent to the conference room. She'd just begun to close the door when a heeled shoe appeared in the jamb to prevent the door's progress.

"Detective?" Interim Captain Victoria Gates asked. "Why are you not at your desk?"

"That would be my fault," the agent interjected evenly. "I need a bit of Detective Beckett's time."

"And you are…?" Gates replied, displeased.

"Someone with authorization to speak to anyone who might help with my ongoing investigation."

Gates stared hard at the interloper, who offered no reaction. After a few tense minutes that seemed only to affect the NYPD staff, Gates finally broke first and huffed. "And I suppose I'm just supposed to accept this?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be participating in this discussion."

"You have ten seconds to leave," the agent replied as he extracted a cell phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "Your position here at the Precinct is exceptionally tenuous. I'd think you'd be invested in making things work, not causing trouble," he explained as he started to dial a number. "But if this is how you'd choose to come to the attention of 1PP, so be it."

He was nearly finished dialing when Gates broke again. "You have fifteen minutes," she demanded as she spun on her heel and exited the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

"I'm sure it's fun for you to play the mysterious government agent," Beckett noted as she took a seat across from the visitor, "But I'm the one who's gonna pay for that little stunt and she already hates me."

"You're being wasted here," the agent replied, unaffected by Beckett's concern. "And it's not clear why you need to stay, now that your reason for joining the NYPD is on its way to resolution."

"Resolution?" Beckett laughed in scorn. She was about to press him on how they could let Bracken go when she remembered that Castle probably wasn't supposed to tell her anything.

The agent wasn't fooled. "You know as well as I do that cases resolve in different ways. How many of your cases actually go to trial?"

Beckett knows better than to get drawn into this debate. "Why are you here? If you think I'm wasted here, is this a recruiting visit?"

"Maybe," the agent replied with a smile. "But I actually wanted you to do some recruiting for us."

"Castle?" Beckett deduced.

The agent replied with a nod and a pleased look on his face. "I was forced to accept his resignation," he admitted, looking irritated. "But I still hope to bring him back in. I could use your help."

"Why me?" she asked. "Sure, we worked well together, but that was years ago. And it's not like we parted on good terms."

"Perhaps not, but you underestimate your importance to him. You should be proud," he paused to offer her another nod, "as I think his remarkable performance throughout his training was a direct result of his time here."

"I'm not the only person he shadowed," she demurred, though inside she's pleasantly surprised by the thought that Castle actually learned something during his time with her.

"No, but you're the one he remembered. I oversaw his training, I know how he thinks. That's actually why I'm here."

"Oh?"

"Rick was a machine all through training. You can probably appreciate this better than anyone," he confided. "After what happened to his mother and daughter, he came to us with a drive for justice that sustained him through our entire program. It didn't matter what we threw at him – 72-hour shifts, drills with multiple opponents, training with our harshest instructors – he didn't stop." He stopped briefly, obviously recalling some of his history with Castle, before he huffed and continued. "Don't get me wrong. He failed. Oh, how he failed," he laughed again. "But he never stopped. Each setback saw him reinvesting with more effort. His classmates slept, socialized, paired off, or dropped out, but not Rick. He'd just pick himself up, staunch the blood flow, and start over. And I'll tell you this – I've never seen anyone learn better than him. Sure, he made an incredible number of mistakes. But never the same one twice. He'd screw up, learn, and advance. In the end, none of his classmates could touch him. Hell, I've got experienced agents who could learn a thing of two from him."

Beckett absorbed the agent's appraisal silently, nearly lost in her own reminiscences. It sounded familiar, this tale of keen focus following personal loss, pushing boundaries to become the kind of person who could bring justice to those who perished. She wondered if Castle's supervisor could trade stories with Mike Royce.

"But therein lies the problem."

Beckett cocked her head. "How so?"

"He's brittle. He was forged too quickly. He's strong, certainly. But he's inflexible. Lateral pressure, like the news of a plea deal, is more likely to make him shatter than anything else."

"He's not a weapon," Beckett spat at the agent.

"That's _exactly_ what he is," he laughed in reply, "and it's what he wants to be."

"Wanted," Beckett corrects, "past-tense. What he really wanted was justice, but that was apparently signed away."

"Maybe, maybe not," the agent replied cryptically. "But I need him to get over this thing with Bracken. I didn't train him to lose him after his pet case."

"So, I'm supposed to bring him back to help you recoup his training costs?"

"You're supposed to bring him back because he's a damn promising agent. And because I'd be happier if he had a partner he trusted."

"I see," Beckett nodded, "a position with a federal agency as a bribe for bringing Castle to heel."

"What you call a bribe, I call a reward," the agent replied with just a hint of a smirk. "Besides, I'd be happy to have you on my team, and it's not like there's much left for you here."

"Perhaps," Beckett allowed, unwilling to let this nameless agent see the accuracy of his remarks about what a dead-end the NYPD was threatening to become for her.

"So, you have your assignment and my clock is ticking," the agent smirked, casting a glance at Gates' office before tapping his watch to reference her 15-minute deadline. "Good luck. I'm hoping you can bring my agent back into the fold."

"If I succeed," she said sardonically as he rose from his seat, "how do I get a hold of you?"

"When you succeed," he smirked as he looked at her over his shoulder and opened the door, "then I'll know."

* * *

Beckett's assignment proved even more challenging than she anticipated. Of course, she wasn't convinced that bringing Castle back to whatever agency he left was in his best interest, even if her own situation at the precinct continued to deteriorate. Despite her earlier words to him, the more she thought about it, the more difficult it was to imagine Castle being happy as a Fed. The Castle she remembered would've enjoyed it for a day or two (and a few more, if there were neat gadgets with which to play), but the rules and conformity would've quickly driven him crazy and tempted an explosion of disobedient mischief. No, with Bracken caught and released, it was difficult to imagine anything about being a Fed that would appeal to him.

Still, though, she was anxious to talk with him. And that's where she failed – she had no idea where Castle was staying or how to get in touch with him. She'd thought her best bet was to work through Gina, his ex-wife and current editor. Given the publicity that surrounded _Heat Wave's_ long-delayed release, she figured Castle must be in touch with her. But, if so, he was either ignoring her message or Gina hadn't passed it along to him. Instead, the only reaction she'd gotten from Gina was a pair of tickets for the studio audience of _New York Now!_ , a local talk show on which Castle was making an appearance to support his new book.

Unbelievably, _Heat Wave's_ release had caused her even more trouble at the precinct. Despite the fact that Castle had been foisted on her team years ago, Gates somehow interpreted the release of the book as another sign of Beckett flouting ethical boundaries. She hadn't received a dime, hadn't even won the kudos that 1PP had promised back when Castle forced his way onto her team. And with the early reviews raving about the book, the NYPD was getting the good press it so desperately craved but Beckett herself was on the outside looking in.

Perhaps that's why neither Esposito nor Ryan accompanied her to _New York Now!_ She'd initially been concerned about having only one spare ticket. As it turned out, though, she needn't have worried. Esposito took the time off – 1PP's one concession to the role her team played in the book's existence – but he was using it to interview with an old army buddy at a military contractor. "Orantis Solutions" sounded a bit pretentious to her, but perhaps she was just biased because of their interest in Espo. As for Ryan, he went into the precinct, but she was convinced he was using the time to consider his options should his transfer to Gangs be confirmed.

So, instead, Beckett's extra invitation went to her father. She'd been spending more time with him lately, sheltering together in the aftermath of Bracken's arrest and the strange lack of information that followed. She'd withheld news of the plea deal until last night. That was a discussion that she'd be happy to forget as quickly as possible.

The bustle on stage alerted Beckett and her father to the start of the show. Due to his triumphant return, Castle was the prized guest, reserved for the last slot. So, before she heard her wayward partner, she had to sit through three preliminary segments, first – a breeder who trained her dogs to operate household appliances, an artist who used only green materials (as in the color green, not in the ecologically-friendly sense), and a woman from Tobago who spoke about her successes and challenges in operating a food cart.

At least the last segment was interesting, Beckett thought, as all the guests shifted down on the on-stage couch to leave the spot closest to the host open for Castle.

Finally, the errant author arrived. Beckett took in his appearance and was reminded of some of his flashier looks from earlier in his career. At least they were using a fairly muted and sophisticated approach to marketing _Heat Wave_. She wasn't sure if that was due to Castle's maturation or Gina's influence, but she was happy either way. She could just imagine scantily-clad stripper-officers or some other prepubescent explosion of hormones that might've resulted earlier in Castle's career.

Instead, Castle seemed to have shifted into an elder statesman type of role. He was dressed to kill in a bespoke pinstripe suit that accentuated his training-enhanced physique. And after admiring his neatly trimmed hair, Beckett nearly slapped herself on the forehead when she realized her folly in trying to track down her old partner. His stylist! That's a stake-out that certainly would've borne fruit. Finally back in town, there was no way Castle wouldn't have gone to her to prep for his appearance on this show.

Her musings, and the prompted applause, were cut short by the end of the commercial break. The hostess, a photogenic, blond pixie of unsurpassed energy and quick wit, turned to the audience to begin the final segment.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began before she waggled her eyebrows and winked, "and ladies again, it's my pleasure to _finally_ welcome one of my favorite authors to our show. Please welcome Richard Castle!"

Castle stood and waved to the crowd, smile wide and eyes twinkling. He was either excited for this appearance or stoned out of his mind, Beckett thought.

"Rick," the hostess started before backing up, "can I call you Rick?"

"Certainly," he nearly purred in response. "Perhaps I can call you Savannah?"

"Oh my," the hostess emitted as she picked up a copy of Castle's book from the small table perched beside her chair and used it to fan herself. "Say it like that and you can call me anything you want!" she offered, drawing laughs from the audience who enjoyed watching the mother of three as a fan-girl. "Actually," she corrected as she turned back to her guest, "call me Annie."

"Annie," he accepted with a nod as he rumbled in an even sexier tone.

"Eep," Savannah said as she played it up for the audience before turning back and turning serious. "So, Rick, your newest book is a sensation, rocketing up the charts. But I think most of your fans are wondering the same thing: why end Storm and start over with a female officer?"

"Well, let me tell you a little story. I actually wrote and finished the book a couple years ago," Castle confided, leaning in towards Savannah but turning to let his gaze roam over the audience. "It was a complete surprise. If you remember back then, I popped up in the news every once in a while, and not for good reasons," he said contritely while throwing a roguish look that won some laughs and looks of indulgence. "I'd just ended the Storm books and was drifting creatively and getting myself into trouble. So, I wasn't exactly surprised when a detective from the NYPD showed up at one of my signings. It turned out she was there to ask for information on a crime that mirrored a scene from one of my earlier books."

"So she didn't arrest you?" Savannah asked with some surprise. "I imagine some people lost money on that bet!"

"Well, she did arrest me later," he admitted sheepishly, drawing more laughs. "The case was just so fascinating that I couldn't help but take the case files home to study them. Turns out the NYPD is kind of touchy about that kind of thing."

"I can't imagine," Savannah replied drily, rolling her eyes in a way Beckett found familiar.

"But we worked it out. I ended up watching the detective and her partners solve that case and I was hooked," he confessed. "These people were amazing – the criminals they have to catch, the constraints under which they work, the stress of trying to find justice for those who've lost loved ones – the whole experience rocked me. It woke me up and had me excited to write in a way I hadn't felt since beginning Storm, if even then. So, I talked to the NYPD and we came to an arrangement that allowed me to watch that team of detectives. I wasn't there long, but I filled notebooks with ideas."

"That's good to hear," Savannah followed up quickly, "does that mean there might be sequels?"

"Could be," Castle teased. "I certainly have the material."

From her spot in the audience, Beckett smiled. There was something very satisfying about the notion of Castle returning to writing. It felt right. And it didn't even have to be stories about Nikki Heat or Derrick Storm; just the thought that he'd return to writing rather than chase vengeance for Martha and Alexis brought comfort. Perhaps, Beckett reflected, Castle had abandoned his plans for Bracken. If he could let go and move on, maybe she could do the same thing.

"And the character," Savannah added. "Tell us, Rick – why a female protagonist?"

"When I called my publisher, she thought I was crazy," Rick confided, again drawing the audience into his tale. "She was _not_ happy about what I'd done to Storm and then I followed it up with this surprise. I think her comment was something like ' _Rick, every woman you've known has either left you with a handprint on your cheek or divorce papers in your hand, including me! What makes you think you could possibly write a female protagonist?!'_ " he chuckled along with the audience. "But it worked for two reasons. First, that detective who arrested me? She was an inspiration. To me, obviously, but to others who met her as well. Trust me, if you met someone like her, you'd write a book, too."

Beckett blushed from her seat in the audience and lowered her head slightly to let her hair fall forward. Her father reached over and squeezed her hand, but was otherwise still. He knew, better than anyone, how much his daughter would not appreciate being in the spotlight now. Beckett, meanwhile, prayed fervently that Castle didn't know she was here and wouldn't see her in the audience. She took a deep breath and looked up again. To her horror, she saw Castle looking right at her. With a ghost of a wink, he spoke again.

"Second," he continued his answer and Beckett sighed in relief that he let her retain her anonymity, "it was a challenge. My editor wasn't quite right – sure, I've made plenty of mistakes with women in my personal life. But the women in my family…," he trailed off slowly, looking awed and tearing up, "they were amazing. I thought if I could write a female character that that they'd like, the book would stand on its own."

"And what did they think of the book?" Savannah asked.

"I like to think they'd have enjoyed it," Castle answered wistfully. "You've been very patient with me, Annie, and I appreciate it. You haven't give me trouble about how long it's taken this book to arrive, even though my first comment was about finishing the story years ago. You know what happened, don't you?"

"Yes, Rick, I do," she affirmed as she reached out and touched his knee. "Do you want to tell our audience about it?"

Castle nodded and took a deep breath before turning to the audience. "I write fiction," he started slowly, getting some nods from the audience. "In a real sense, I live in a fantasy world. I build up stories in my mind, let my imagination run wild. You know, sometimes I don't even realize I'm writing – I just get lost in my own little worlds and then try to offer a peek into them. It's wild, it's liberating, and it's safe."

"I forgot that the world is a harsher place than I'm used to. The violence in my world arrives by ink on paper or illuminated dots on my computer screen. The violence in the actual world arrives by gunshot and knife strike," he presaged, stopping to take a deep breathe. The audience, meanwhile, sat in silent, rapt attention.

"We were supposed to have a dinner to celebrate when I finished my book. It wasn't printed yet, obviously, but I'd sent in the last chapter and then made reservations for my mother, daughter, and myself. I went straight to the restaurant, anxious to get things set up. My daughter was coming from her study group and my mother from her studio."

"Mother arrived first, which should've been my first clue," Castle continued. Several in the audience leaned back of raised their hands to their mouths at the foreshadowing. "But what really haunts me, to this day, is that when the police arrived, I thought they might be there to congratulate me about finishing the book."

When Castle lapsed into silence, Savannah stepped in to prompt him. "But they weren't there for congratulations, were they?"

"No," Castle finally whispered in reply. "My daughter usually took a car service and she'd planned to do so that evening, too. But the car never showed and it was a nice summer night, so she decided to walk. She never arrived. Some tourists heard some commotion and flagged down a parking enforcement officer, who found my baby girl in an alley, where she died after being stabbed several times."

Aside from some stifled sobs, there were no sounds from the studio audience. Most had come hoping to see a light, flirty interview with a cute author. The cognitive dissonance from the tale of tragedy left them silent and heartsick.

"Mother died shortly after that. The doctors ran all kinds of tests and offered diagnosis after diagnosis, but I know she died of a broken heart. I almost did the same."

Savannah looked to her audience and realized the great need for some catharsis. "Did they find your daughter's killer?"

Beckett stiffened in her chair. Was this Castle's plan, she wondered. To announce on a syndicated show that Bracken was responsible for his daughter's murder?

"Her case is still open," Castle answered brokenly. To her surprise, Beckett found herself disappointed by his answer. "The police initially ruled it a random event. But then they discovered that someone claiming to be me called to cancel the car that was supposed to pick up my daughter. That lead never panned out, nor did any others. After two months, it moved to the cold case file, where it still remains."

"I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry, Rick," Savannah offered, as many in the audience nodded along.

"Thank you," he replied with a small, grateful smile. "I won't lie – it's been difficult. They were everything to me. It took me a long time to even function, much less go forward. I'm still not really sure I have, actually. But, about a year ago, I thought that maybe I could publish the book as a tribute to them. Alexis always loved reading my books," he said wistfully before adopting an exaggerated, put-upon look, "and Mother always loved reading my harshest reviews." The audience laughed along with his chuckle, glad to have an outlet for their emotion. "I visited their resting place just yesterday, actually, and left flowers and bad reviews. I'm sure the caretakers are curious."

"Well," Savannah said briskly to push the discussion to cheerier topics, "if the book was meant as a tribute, I'm sure they're smiling proudly up in heaven. If early returns are any indication, it looks like Nikki Heat will be more popular than Derrick Storm!"

"Perhaps," Castle answered with uncharacteristic humility. "If I can do her justice."

"Of that we have no doubt, right?" she asked the audience, who confirmed with applause. "See, Rick? Nothing to worry about. Now, why don't we let some members of the audience ask some questions?"

"Certainly," he agreed amiably. When Savannah passed the selection duties to him, Castle called on an older woman in the middle of the audience, a row behind Beckett.

"Mister Castle, I just wanted to start by recognizing your loss," the matron said somberly, waiting a moment before forging ahead. "Will you be writing your mom or daughter into your stories?"

"Thank you," Castle answered. "I don't think Alexis or Mother will appear. If I tried to have characters inspired by them, I think they'd take over, then I'd start wrapping the story around them. Maybe someday far in the future I'll think about a biography, but I think I need a little more distance, peace, and clarity before I can approach a project of that importance."

The audience seemed to like that answer, which showed some reverence and a glint of hope. While they smiled at his response, Castle called on another audience member, this time a young man probably only a few years older than Alexis would've been.

"Now that you've finally written a woman with a brain in her head," the questioner started, "are you going to recognize the breadth of sexual orientations available to her, or is she stuck with Rook or some other dude?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Castle laughed, just as Savannah was going to intercede. "I can offer two answers, neither of which you'll like, I'm afraid. First, I try to stay away from spoilers. They might not be the central aspect of the story, but relationships among the characters are still something I won't address in advance. And no, that's totally not a cheat because I haven't worked it out yet," he finished with another laugh. "Second, Nikki is already fully defined in my mind. Well, as much as anyone can be fully defined. That includes her interests, her goals, and her dreams. It's one of the reasons it was so fun to write her – she already exists, I just need to represent her well. So, there's no point in lobbying me to have her look or be a certain way – she already _is_. But," he added quickly, perking up after growing introspective, "I don't want to fully dodge your question. I'm trying to grow as a writer and that includes addressing different perspectives and preferences. Read some of my future works and I'll try not to disappoint you."

"Well said, Rick," Savannah praised, glad that he addressed the question without inflaming passions. To avoid another such risk, she chose the next guest to ask a question after making a guess about her interest.

"Mister Castle," the buxom blond purred, " _Rick_ ," she amended breathily, "are you seeing anyone right now?"

On cue, Castle blushed. "How about we talk about spoilers for my next book?" he tried to deflect, earning more laughter from the audience, including the young man who'd asked the previous question. "Well, you see, the thing is, Miss…" he trailed off to let her offer her name.

"Tiffani."

" _Of course_ ," Beckett muttered, earning a stifled laugh from her father.

"Well, the thing is, Tiffani," Castle resumed, "I finally figured out that commenting on my private life might've been one of the reasons it wasn't actually private. Or successful," he added with an eye roll, earning another studio chuckle. "So, I'm afraid I'm just going to say that I've been focusing on my work and now that _Heat Wave_ is out, I expect to be traveling."

"Sounds lonely," Tiffani pleaded her case. "If you ever want to see someone…"

Hands shot up throughout the studio audience, prompting laughter, smirks, and a disgruntled look from a Tiffani who was incensed that others tried to free ride on her suggestion.

"Yes, yes, Rick's very popular," Savannah chirped, slightly regretting her pick. "How about we go to the phones for the next question? Caller, you're on the air," she prompted.

"Mister Castle," the caller started in a loud, clear voice. "Isn't it true you previously spent some time at the CIA while researching a character for one of your books?"

"If I had," Castles answered with a coy smile, "I'm sure I'd be careful not to comment. When I mentioned upcoming travel, that wasn't meant to include Guantanamo Bay."

"Understood, sir," the unflappable questioner continued. "I was going to ask about cryptology and the secret message you've embedded in _Heat Wave_."

"Oh?" Savannah piped in. "What secret message?"

"If you take the first letter of the first word on page five, the second letter of the second word on page ten, and keep going in five-page increments," the questioner explained, "the book makes a bold statement, isn't that right Mister Castle? _My daughter was killed by Senator William Bracken_. Any comment, sir?"

"Random nonsense," Castle dismissed immediately, though the rapt audience didn't appear to be swayed by his denial if their shocked and scandalized looks were any indication. "I suspect I could construct all sorts of statements by hunting for random patterns. Sometimes, my friend, a cigar is just a cigar. Paul is not dead."

"Do you realize the statistical chance of this being a random event is smaller than the chance of winning the Powerball jackpot?" the questioner persisted. "I don't believe you and I don't think anyone else there does, either."

"Something's not right," Beckett mumbled to her father.

"This guy's pressing too hard," her father agreed. "And Rick isn't really trying to shut him down."

"Exactly. It makes me wonder what…"

"Look," Castle answered his interrogator again, sounding firm. "Like anyone else, I have goals and dreams and I hope that our senators and other elected leaders help make them possible. I'm worried about what happens when our leaders are gone. In fact, that's why I've set up my development fund."

"Your what?" Savannah asked, surprised by this turn in the conversation.

"The Alexis Castle Memorial Development Fund," Castle explained, "which you can find right now with any internet search engine. My daughter was a dreamer. She saw injustices that she planned to fight. Was she a little naïve? Perhaps, though she would've called it 'idealistic.' But she had a knack for pointing at dire problems and pushing for a solution. So, in her memory, I've set aside ten million dollars for the betterment of our society. Senator Bracken defends us now, but what happens when he's gone? We're going to need new hope, new options and new investments when that happens. That's why the full ten million dollars will be disbursed to the first person to provide proof that William Bracken is dead."

* * *

A/N: I'm in trouble! I've been trying to add a scene to the last chapter and it just hasn't been behaving. But now I'm out of time! So, the next (and last) chapter will post Sunday if I can beat it into shape, otherwise Monday.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Detective Beckett," Captain Gates growled from the other side of her desk, "I understand you were in the studio audience. Care to explain to me why you didn't apprehend Mister Castle?"

"I tried," Beckett snapped back. "I was in row five, seat J. That put me directly in the middle of the audience. By the time I'd shoved through the crowd, Castle was offstage. I called it in immediately and searched the studio while I was on the phone with dispatch."

"Convenient," Gates sneered. "There you were, ready to arrest your friend, but you just couldn't get 'round the spinsters and sycophants to _do your duty!_ "

"My father can attest to the effort I put into pursuing Castle."

"Any witnesses who aren't related to you?"

"Yes, actually," Beckett ground out. "Anticipating this inquisition, I asked the studio manager for a copy of the all-camera feed from the show," Beckett explained as she slammed a CD onto the desk. "That's another copy – my original's with my union rep."

"All this will show, if anything," Gates replied, "is that you're a good actress. Tell me, Detective, who selected your seats for the show? Your alibi's pretty weak if you chose where you sat."

"I received the tickets Black Pawn Publishing," Beckett replied haughtily.

"I see. Any other gifts, honoraria, graft, or payoffs you wish to confess?"

"My paperwork for these tickets is on file. Along with the Mayor's statement regarding why Castle was forced onto my team to write this book and his and 1PP's approval for the use of the tickets. You got a problem, take it up with _them_!"

"My problem, Detective, is that a cheap, celebutante writer managed to elude the NYPD after taking out a hit on a Senator on a nationally syndicate live television program!"

"I can't believe you were ever a Detective," Beckett sneered. "I could point out that Castle had training here as well as other law enforcement agencies. I could point out that he was the federal agent responsible for Montgomery's arrest. I could even point out that the legal basis I had to arrest him was questionable. But it wouldn't matter because your issue isn't really his training or the legal foundation for what he did. No, your problem is that Castle's making you look bad. Forget the rest of the NYPD – he eluded _you_ and you're worried that you'll never be anything but an _Interim Captain_ as a result."

From the furious look on Gates' face, Beckett knew her cut hit the mark. Knowing that she was caught out, the Captain took a few deep breaths before calming herself and addressing her detective again.

"Badge and gun," Gates said while tapping on her desk. "You're suspended for two weeks."

"Gladly," Beckett replied as she stood and deposited the items. "You'll still be looking for Castle two weeks from now, so it's not like I'll miss anything. Besides, I'm sure my union rep will be happy with the extra evidence of bias."

"Leave now, before I…"

"Before you what? Arrest me? You can't do anything. At the rate you're going, I'd be shocked if you were still here in two weeks."

"You had such a promising career, Beckett. I can't believe you're throwing it all away."

"You know what I can't believe?" Beckett asked, hand resting on the doorknob as she stalled her motions to leave the room. "I worked with some of the biggest pigs in the NYPD. Vice, alone, should've driven me out. And then I get Montgomery as a captain – the guy who pretended to help with my mother's case while he was one of the conspirators who set the stage for her death. After all that, it's _you_ who might actually drive me out of the force. Congratulations, _ma'am_ , for yet another accomplishment the old boys club couldn't manage."

* * *

"Hey Beckett, you're late!" Esposito called from the table as Beckett entered the diner. "A little suspension and suddenly you're all casual about timing?"

Beckett cocked her head and considered a response as she slid into the booth next to Espo. "You know what? Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly what it's like. So, how was getting up early to turn up at the precinct?" she asked to rub it in.

"Even worse than usual," Ryan grumped from the other side of the table. "We're benched. Not suspended," he clarified quickly, "but stuck on cold cases until our challenge to the transfers is heard."

"You know," Esposito offered as a server dropped a menu off for Beckett, "I'm not sure I'll stay even if we win. Gates isn't gonna stop. She's already riding Beckett hard and you know she'd watch us like a hawk. I'm feelin' pretty good about my other interviews. If something works out there, I think I'm gone."

"I'm thinking about it, too," Beckett noted, much to Ryan's surprise. "This suspension is just the start. If she or the new captain have it in for me, I don't know that it's worth trying to stay."

"What a minute," Ryan interjected. "What new captain?"

"That's what got me suspended," Beckett answered with a smirk. "It wasn't actually about Castle or his escape. She wrote me up for insubordination after I accused her of being so pissed off about Castle because he's making her look bad and she'll lose the 12th as a result."

"Damn, Beckett!" Espo cheers as he offers a fist to bump. "You've got stones! I'm glad somebody called her out. And if Castle manages to get her booted, I'll buy him a beer!"

"If he ever shows up again," Ryan added.

"So, what do you know?" Beckett asked, turning to her main item of interest for this conversation.

The boys exchanged a look, the nodded. After a quick rock-paper-scissors, Ryan won the right to explain.

"They still don't know how he got out of the building," Ryan started with a chuckle. "The studio director was paid off to keep that guy at the front of the phone line for the Q&A period, so the whole thing was obviously a set-up."

"Phone trace went nowhere," Espo added with a nod, "so that's a dead-end."

"Best bet on Castle is that he either stowed away on a vehicle servicing the retail places on the ground floor of the building or he had a way out through the sub-basement," Ryan continued, ignoring his partner's interjection.

"Castle crawling through the sub-basement?" Beckett laughed at the image of her immaculate ex-partner slipping through decades of grime. "I don't think so."

"Me neither," Ryan laughed. "My money was on him hitching a ride with the station's traffic helicopter, but that didn't pan out either."

Beckett nodded along – it was easy to imagine Castle talking or flirting his way onto the traffic chopper. It was a good thought.

"Don't suppose we've got any leads on him since then?"

"You're kidding, right?" Espo replied. "One, we ain't doing anything that connects us to Castle. Gates would have us cleaning the bathrooms in the gym," he shuddered. "Two, Castle hasn't turned up anywhere," he laughed, making it immediately apparent that they were ignoring point one. "He was invisible before his stunt and he's just as invisible now."

"What about Black Pawn?" Beckett asked. "They can't move and they're probably implicated. Warrants out yet for Castle's editor?"

Ryan broke out into a large smile. "Sullivan and Tooms tried to show up and bully their way in without a warrant. It turns out Castle's editor – and ex-wife – has a bit of a temper. She tore them up one side and down the other, _then_ she brought in Pawn's legal staff. 1PP had to get involved. Something tells me Sullivan and Tooms are gonna be doing some remedial classes at the academy."

"Couldn't happen to nicer guys," Beckett replied with a lupine grin.

"And as for warrants, there's a bit of a problem there," Espo laughed. When Beckett cocked a brow for an explanation, Ryan interjected again, looking annoyed at his partner's interference in violation of sacred rock-paper-scissors protocol.

"Castle's attorney is apparently having a lot of fun," Ryan explained. "He's an older guy who's tying the DAs office in knots. Bracken was at the DA's office when this went down, so there're issues about bias and overzealous prosecution. Castle also kind of threaded the needle on how he worded things – technically, he only offered to pay for evidence, not the event. It's pretty specious reasoning, given the presence of a _massive financial incentive_ for malfeasance, but it's the kind of loophole attorneys love."

"And Castle's attorney is freakin' hilarious," Espo jumped in again. "My buddy says he must to there to cause havoc more than plead Castle's case. So, he's just having a ball."

"Still, it doesn't look good that Castle disappeared after he made his announcement," Beckett offered, reigning in some of the frivolity. "And it was clearly premeditated," she noted.

"Yeah, that's true. Remember how we found out that Castle signed his beach house over? Turns out that was around the same time Black Pawn transferred the rights to Castle's books to a foreign company. Looks like they made sure a court couldn't block _Heat Wave's_ publication and distribution. Getting the international relationships set up was probably a part of the reason for this book's delay."

"And timing it with taking down Montgomery and Bracken would be the other part," Beckett surmised, "along with embedding his hidden message in the text, once he figured out who was responsible for Alexis' murder. How in the hell did he pull this off?"

"And where did he go?" Ryan added.

The team considered their questions for a few minutes before Beckett broke the silence. "I think he's gone," she guessed. "He quit his job. He'd already liquidated his assets. He probably moved everything offshore months ago. He was willing to trade his life here in the US for a shot a Bracken."

"An astute observation," noted a voice from beside the table. While the detectives were still turning, the agent who'd tasked Beckett with bringing Castle back slid into the seat next to Ryan, across from Beckett.

"You might as well take off," Beckett sighed in resignation in the face of yet more interference. "I don't know where Castle is and I wouldn't tell you if I did."

"But surely you want to bring him to justice?" the agent persisted.

"If this were about justice, Bracken would be on Death Row or looking at several life sentences in a maximum-security prison. Castle did what he did. Maybe he'll get caught, but it won't be by me."

"You sound like you hope he gets away with it," the agent continued as Ryan and Espo remained quiet and watched the conversational volley across the table.

"And if I knew you weren't wired you might hear a more frank opinion. But, as it is, I'm going to invite you to leave. Find a different patsy or a new trainee and leave me and Castle alone."

"You're sure you can just sent me away?" the agent asked with a sly smile. "My offer still stands – if Castle comes back, he'll need a partner. And it doesn't sound like the NYPD will accommodate your presence much longer."

"I'll be fine," Beckett assured the agent. Ryan and Espo both nodded in affirmation, though each now had arms crossed and glowers in place, unimpressed by this federal irritant. "And even if not, Castle's been through enough. Leave him alone."

The agent stared at Beckett for several long moments, before turning in place to offer the same scrutiny to each of the boys. Then, finally, he laughed.

"You're all a bunch of suckers," he delighted, drawing an actual growl from Espo. "Not _one_ of you asked me for ID – not even your boss!" he cackled. "Congrats," he offered jovially as he slipped out of the booth and stood next to the table, "you passed the test. Rick was worried that his recent choices might have some negative ramifications for you. This should ease the pain," he stated cryptically as he removed three envelopes from the breast pocket of his blazer and dropped them onto the table. "Obviously, the existence of these accounts will look bad, and if you access them the wrong way you'll be cutting Uncle Sam a damn big tax check. Enjoy."

With that, the "agent" turned and departed. As they watched him leave, the team noticed two others in the diner rise to join him. He might not've been an agent, but he clearly knew how to run a covert meeting. Actually, Beckett thought, she _still_ hadn't seen any ID. Who's to say he wasn't an agent happily pretending otherwise to buy himself a little operational freedom…

Beckett's ruminations were cut short by a low whistle from Espo, who'd used a table knife so slice open the envelope addressed to him.

"Two mil," he offered in a low voice, getting a bulging-eyed, slow nod from Ryan. "Out of the country, with instructions on how to access it."

"Not instructions," Ryan clarified, looking at the contents of his own envelope. "Excerpts of related laws. There's not a single word of advice or guidance – that'll keep things cleaner if lawyers get involved. He's being careful again."

Beckett nodded along numbly as she slowly slipped a fingernail beneath the flap of her envelope. Screening her forms from the boys, she continued to nod despite the fact that her total was notably higher than theirs. In fact, they'd have assumed everything was identical had something not fallen from Beckett's bundle and landed on the table.

"What's that?" Ryan asked. "I didn't get a postcard."

"Me neither," Espo offered with a sly smile. "Looks like someone's trying to make an impression. Where's it from?"

"He sent a postcard of a cowboy riding a rabbit?" Ryan asked out loud as Beckett grabbed the postcard and returned it to her hand, where only she could see the details.

"It's just a note," Beckett demurred as she read the short text without sharing it: _Just in case you'd ever like to visit, you'd always be welcome._ He'd doodled in a postmark from Fort Hancock, Texas, in reference to one of his favorite stories. But the real shock appeared below the note: a phone number.

* * *

Beckett sighed as she jumped the gap onto the train. It was early morning, but the three flights she took to get to this point had taken their toll. She hadn't slept a wink on any of them. No, the intrigue of her arrangements meant that her mind never stopped. She knew it wouldn't be easy to find Castle, but the reality was even worse. Traveling on her own passport meant that her itinerary was available via computer to anyone who was interested. To combat this, they'd developed a routine: Beckett would call Castle from the airport, he'd identify a plane that was ready to depart, she'd race to the gate and board just before the door closed. The first time was clandestine fun, much like sneaking out as a teenager. The second time was okay. By the third trip, she was exhausted and cursed the thriller movies she used to like for their blatant ignorance to human endurance and stamina.

She'd finally landed in this city, only to get instructions to race to a train. She'd made it with only minutes to spare, then had problems purchasing her ticket at the automated kiosk. One more 'Please insert credit card again' and she'd have missed her ride.

Stumbling as the train lurched into motion and her fatigue gripped her, Beckett cursed under her breath and started moving towards the first-class cabin, which just _had_ to be at the front of the train. Lugging her rollerboard bag behind her, she began the arduous trek. She'd hadn't even made it halfway before an arm reached out from behind a curtain and pulled her into a sleeper car.

"It's me," Castle whispered in her ear as he quickly stepped back and pulled Beckett further into the cabin, making sure her bag fully disappeared from the aisle. Having reached for a weapon she obviously couldn't bring on her series of flights, Beckett chastised herself for being caught unaware.

"Sorry for the hassle, and the rude reception," Castle offered in a whisper. "We need to lay low for the first bit," he explained as he squeezed past her to collect her bag and lift it to the luggage rack. "If anyone followed you, we need to make sure they don't see you. When your ticket goes unscanned, they'll assume you either never boarded the train or jumped off after leaving a false trail."

"You sound pretty confident," Beckett whispered in reply.

"Not my first rodeo," he replied with a smile. "Traveling through a non-extradition country where I've got some fans among the local constabulary eases my anxiety a bit, too."

Unsure how to react, Beckett instead took the chance to look around the compartment. There wasn't much room, but it was clearly one of the bigger rooms available, considering its miniscule water closet. How oddly considerate of Castle.

As if he heard her thoughts, Castle whispered again. "Go ahead and get cleaned up. You must be exhausted. I've got a basket of food, including your favorites I can remember, ready for later. Rest, eat, then we can talk."

A few hours later, Beckett awoke as the train slowed to make another stop. Once she was thinking clearly again, she found herself surprised that she'd slept so soundly and quickly. There should've been some anxiety about falling asleep in front of Castle, given their strange history, but exhaustion had taken care of that.

As she opened her eyes, she realized that Castle, too, must've had some hard traveling to make their rendezvous. He was sprawled across from her, still asleep. She took the opportunity to study him in repose, finding herself surprised at his peaceful look. In her memory of his times at the precinct, he was so often smiling or laughing. Or looking mischievous. In their one meeting since then, he looked first morose, then resolute. It was odd to realize that a serene look was unusual.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Castle awoke. His hand immediately reached inside his jacket as he tensed and conducted a quick scan of his situation. Seeing Beckett, he relaxed and slowly withdrew his hand as if hoping she wouldn't notice.

"Hungry?" he asked to distract her.

"Starving," she admitted. She'd planned to accept Castle's offered picnic before her nap, but her body had other ideas.

Castle bustled about setting things up, placing a variety of options on the small, fold-out table. From a thermos, he poured them each a cup of coffee. Beckett couldn't help but smile.

"So, fire away," he offered after passing the coffee to her. "I assume you're not here to try to arrest me, even if you're not happy with what I did. I figure you're bursting with questions, so skipping right to the interrogation will be most efficient."

Beckett nodded, surprised by the offer. After taking a quick moment to form her questions, she realized she only really had two that mattered beyond mere curiosity. She started by addressing the second-most interesting issue. "You're right that I'm not here to arrest you, even though I might have to do some fancy footwork if anyone asks if I've seen you. And while I'm still not on board with what you've done, Espo gave me some things to think about. So, I'm going to table that for now and instead ask: why that way?"

"You mean why take out a hit on a US senator in the middle of a TV show?" Castle laughed. "I'm sure there are people who assume it was ego, a desperate attempt for lasting notoriety. In fact, I've read that in more than a few places," he confessed with a smirk. "And back when you met me, that would've been a fair bet."

"But it's not the answer," Beckett prodded.

"No, it's not the answer," he admitted. "I'm not a good man, as you know. Hiring a professional was an option, and a relatively humane one. But I don't want humane. I want him to suffer. I figured ten million was enough to make anyone think about cashing in. He won't be able to trust anyone. And that kind of paranoia builds over time. He'll become increasingly agitated, so convinced that anyone near him might turn that he'll look at them all in suspicion. They'll react to his behavior, which to him will only seem to confirm that they're setting him up. I kind of hope it takes someone awhile to track him down. I'll be happy if he's a chattering wreck when he leaves this world."

"That's pretty dark, Castle," Beckett replied, her mind noting the incongruity of snacking on a chicken salad sandwich while discussing a contract assassination.

"Had I asked you about your hopes when you were twenty years old, would your answer have been so different?"

"No," Beckett admitted. "It took me a while to settle on the idea of catching mom's killer," she confessed in a quiet voice. "Before then, I just wanted him to _pay_." Beckett watched as Castle nodded along, though she was surprised that he remained quiet. The Castle she remembered didn't often allow for prolonged silences. So, oddly, she prompted the discussion. "I worked hard to develop the skills I'd need to catch him, just as you did. And it hurt – oh, how it hurt sometimes, paying the price for developing those skills. But I worry," she confided, "that the cost of what you've done will be so much higher."

Castle nodded along as he listened to Beckett express her concerns. "I don't," he answered. "Worry, that is. I'm sure there is a cost to what I've done, but it's one I resolved to pay long ago. And – as much as this will make me seem like a monster, especially to a Homicide cop – I'm not actually that bothered now and I'm not sure that'll change."

"Castle," Beckett replied while shaking her head, "you say that now, but…"

"Beckett," he interrupted, "I've actually slept since the television show. It's the first time since Alexis was killed that I've made it through the night without pills or nightmares. I'm comfortable with my decision."

Beckett stared at him, looking for any sign of doubt or remorse. "As a cop, I should be appalled that we're even having this conversation."

"As a cop," he replied, "you probably appreciate better than most the frustrations and imperfections of our justice system. And if you don't mind me saying so, you don't sound as enamored of your profession as I recall," Castle prompted gently.

"I'm not," she admitted, putting down her sandwich as the tone of the discussion muted her hunger. "I feel out of control and I don't like it. A month ago I was proud to be a cop, to disregard other opportunities because they weren't compatible with that identity. But then you arrested Montgomery and Bracken went down. Suddenly, my driving focus to become a cop was resolved."

"I'm sorry, Kate."

"Don't apologize!" Beckett erupted. "You did what I couldn't do. You have no idea how much that stung once I realized what was going on. But after allowing me to indulge in a bit of self-pity, my dad sat me down and asked if I'd rather someone else caught mom's killer or he went undiscovered. The answer was obvious. So, in case it wasn't clear before, _thank you_."

"There are still others like you, Beckett, as much as we wish there weren't," Castle whispered, seemingly ignoring her thanks. "You used your passion about your mom's case to pursue closure for others. You can still do that."

"I'm not sure I can," she answered sadly as she looked down. "I confided to dad about this and he explained it to me using baseball, his favorite hobby. The Red Sox still have fans, but he's convinced they've never rooted as hard for the team since they finally won the World Series and ended their curse. That's what I feel like – I still want to catch murderers and bring some peace to families, but it feels like I've lost my spark."

As she raised her head again, she was shocked to see tears on Castle's cheeks. He looked so guilty, so crestfallen. He opened his mouth to apologize but Beckett cut him off again.

"And it probably doesn't matter. As you know, I'm currently suspended. What I haven't told you is if I fare well at a disciplinary hearing, I'm still looking at a transfer or demotion. Espo got transfer orders to Burglary, Ryan to Gangs. Our current captain, who came from IA, is convinced we were tainted by Montgomery. So, even if I was as passionate about my job as I was before all this, it's not clear I can continue in Homicide, at least not with the NYPD."

"What're you going to do?" Castle asked. "Is there any way I can help?"

"Besides giving me access to a big pile of cash in an offshore account?" she replied somewhat acerbically. Castle looked sheepish, but not apologetic. "I guess that depends on my other main question for you."

"Which is?"

"Why did you leave me your number? Why go through potential capture to allow us this time to talk?"

Castle sighed and looked down. He started to speak before stopping himself, several times. Finally, after a huff, he offered a terse answer in a small voice. "I'm lonely."

Beckett knit her brows. Sure, seeing him brought back feelings she'd forced herself to forget, naïve hopes she'd tried not to indulge, but that was years ago and…

"Not like that," he said with a laugh. "Well, yeah, like that, too, but that's not what I'm talking about." The small grin dropped from his face as he thought about how to explain himself. "I've been surrounded by people since they died," he began in a quiet voice. "But none of them knew what happened or really understood what it meant. I'm different now. Marked. I can try to connect with others, can pretend for a little while that it doesn't matter that they can't understand how Alexis' murder changed me. But it always falls apart. Murder has just defined too much of my life now. I had a friend who told me I had to let it go, but she never understood that I don't _want_ to let it go. Not if it means forgetting even one single, minute aspect of Alexis."

Beckett heaved a wavering breath. "It doesn't matter, Castle. You'll forget," she confessed sadly. "And you'll hate yourself for it." With that, Beckett lapsed into introspection, revisiting the guilt she's felt when a picture or conversation with her father caused her to remember something she'd forgotten about her mother.

"This is why I wanted to talk to you, to see you again," Castle admitted quietly. "You know what it's like. You're marked, too. I wonder if we could understand each other in a way others couldn't."

Beckett nodded, starting to wonder about the possibilities.

"You've felt it too, haven't you?" he pressed. "That feeling like you should be connecting, should be more engaged, but it seems like letting go would be a betrayal? Like starting something new would require giving up too much of yourself?"

"Yeah," Beckett answered quietly. "I know exactly what you're talking about."

"So maybe having a friend that knows the feeling would come in handy?"

"A friend?" she asked, a skeptical eyebrow raised. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

"So, how can your friend help you out with your situation at the precinct? Given the uproar after my talk-show appearance, I'm not sure I've got much pull these days," he mugged for her.

"Are you kidding? You're the scoundrel vigilante of New York," Beckett informed him, shaking her head again. "The father breaking all the rules to avenge his daughter by taking down a crooked politician? With that dark allure your popularity might be higher now than ever."

"There was a time I would've loved that," Castle sighed in exasperation. "As it is, it's just one more reason to stay away."

"You're not planning to come back?"

"My comment about the Statute of Limitations wasn't an idle observation. I'll be making my home over here for the foreseeable future. Unless a bounty hunter trusses me up for delivery back to the States, I guess."

"Your legal issues won't bring you back?"

"Probably not. My attorney Fitz is handling things for now, and having a lot of fun at it," he laughed, obviously thinking about some communication from his attorney. "Our grand plan is to resolve any criminal cases, then prep for any civil suits."

Beckett sighed, thinking about the non-criminal side of the courts with which she had little experience. "It sounds like you aren't worried about the civil case?"

"I'm kind of hoping Bracken's family files a wrongful death claim," he admitted. "The Feds buried as much about Bracken as they could. But in a civil case, Fitz is confident he could get the contents of my dossiers admitted as evidence. Then the world would know all about what that bastard did and why."

"You could still be found guilty," she reminded him, wondering if he'd even care.

"It's a risk," he answered with a shrug. "Personally, I think it's likely we'd get the old one dollar loss, where the verdict is guilt but the damages are nothing. But it doesn't matter. They can take it all if it means Bracken's gone."

"Says the guy whose money is squirreled away where we couldn't find it," she challenged with a smirk, getting an innocent shrug in response.

"Says the pot to the kettle." He laughed at her look of indignation, before losing his humor as Beckett started to look a bit devious.

"Now that you mention it, I do seem to have found myself an unexpected financial windfall just as my employment situation became uncertain," she prefaced. "And I distinctly recall my former shadow asking if he could help. Well, it turns out I have a pretty ironic request for you, Castle…"

* * *

The months following Castle's appearance on _New York Now!_ were not good ones for the NYPD. As each lead to discover Castle's whereabouts proved fruitless, the pressure on the NYPD grew more acute. The media had a field day with the story that had everything – a sympathetic antihero, a charmingly cantankerous defense attorney, a politician who was even more bent and evil than most were assumed to be as a matter of course, tragedy, conspiracy, police ineptitude, and lots and lots of money. Bracken sightings often popped up on social media and dedicated websites as Castle's fans, those interested in collecting the bounty, or those wishing to see frontier justice done created a broad network of spotters. The attention put Mayor Bob Weldon in a difficult spot. When forced to address the issue, Weldon surprised many with a simple statement: "Richard Castle is my friend. And I will always support my friend."

Needless to say, Weldon's comment contributed to tensions with the police force. But it was the four events that followed that gutted morale.

First was the leaked information about Bracken. The bald accusation hidden within _Heat Wave_ prompted a massive amount of attention on a case that federal prosecutors had kept quiet. When information about Bracken's arrest and subsequent plea deal leaked, it was like blood in the water. In the resulting frenzy, the pieces slowly fell into place, starting with Montgomery. As the conspiracy was traced out, the public learned that all of the pain started with dirty cops who were turned by a dirty Assistant DA. Public sympathy swayed toward the Castle and Beckett families and away from New York's public servants.

Second came the news that Beckett, who'd been outed as the inspiration for the popular Nikki Heat, had been forced out of the precinct. This wasn't strictly true – Beckett prevailed in her efforts to overturn her suspension and brought her own charges against the NYPD. Angry and disillusioned about how her career was treated by Gates and others, Beckett lashed back at those who spat on her commitment. The Department thought a quick, quiet settlement would stem the bad press. And perhaps it did, though most considered the payment an admittance of guilt.

The third blow came from an unexpected source. In fact, even the _New York Times_ , which provided the shot, was initially unaware that it had done so. But printed in its legal announcements page was a simple notice posted by a Montenegrin law firm that declared the Alexis Castle Memorial Development Fund had successfully concluded its remit and was, as a result, shutting down. This small, explosive note not only accounced that Bracken was dead, but it reminded the public that the NYPD had been completely ineffectual in preventing Castle's scheme. In fact, the dire threats of prosecution of any who attempted to claim the Fund fell flat, as the notice did not confirm the identity of the Fund's beneficiary.

Having sent one scoop to the _New York Times_ , the architect of the NYPD's disgrace turned to the _Financial Times_ to deliver the final blow. This time, however, the sally arrived with full fanfare as the _Times_ provided unprecedented prominence to a book review, in which it declared _Unbound Heat_ , co-authored by Richard Castle and Katherine Beckett, to be a sure-fire best-seller and well worth the effort to locate, even if current legal issues inhibited sales within the US.

Fin.

* * *

A/N: Back when I finished writing Under New Management, I mentioned that my next story would be a shorter effort inspired by two fanfic friends, The Muse of Apollo and madcrafter72. Anyone who knows Muse knows his role in prompting this story. He's not a big fan of Alexis. In a review to an earlier story he wondered about Alexis' mortality and I thought 'I can't write that – Castle would be a shell of himself if he lost his daughter.' But then I started thinking about how Beckett dealt with her loss…

Madcrafter's contribution is a little different. She wrote a short one-shot called "Two Out of Three" that left me with a crazy-high ratio of lingering thoughts to words written. It's the kind of story that sticks in my head, kind of the 'what if' that really sets things upside down. So, I decided to pull Castle out of the precinct way back in Season One and see what might happen.

This story was a bit of a diversion for me, something to keep my hand in the game while my time was limited. I've tried to stay away from the type of story that ends with an epilogue, but I didn't want this story to draw out. UNM suffered for the periods in which I had to focus on work rather than my writing and so I kept this tale terse to avoid that fate.

I'm not sure what's next. It might be a break, though I still like my Halloween story idea and might actually pull the trigger on it this year. I've also thought about a story called "Back to School Blues," but there's no chance I could have that ready in time for school to resume.

Finally, one last note. I originally joined this fandom because I enjoyed watching Castle with my oldest child, who helped push me into writing. She's been away for nearly seven weeks and finally returns tonight! So, I beg forgiveness but I'll be late in replying to reviews for the last two chapters as I get to focus on her for a bit.

Thanks for reading!


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